


Of Darkness and Warm Lights

by 198_4



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clexa, F/F, and everything in between, it began with smut, then angst, turned to fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-05-04 20:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14600844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/198_4/pseuds/198_4
Summary: Just another story which started with 'Friends with Benefits' shit. Err. Scratch that one word. They are not friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Smut is coming.

Monday-ish

 

“F u u u c k.”

The familiar shriek of the word filled your ears. It was all you heard because it was all the woman in your arms could say. She doesn't know your name as much as you don’t know hers.

But it doesn’t matter.

Your fingers drove deep into the girl’s wet folds for the third time that night. She ordered a faster pace and you obeyed, needing to let go of the nipple you were sucking passionately. The girl gasped at the loss of warm tongue on her breast.

Your head spins, having consumed so much alcohol that night. But was confident of the remaining energy in your system to propel her to one last orgasm.

It did not take long when walls tightened around your stable and buried fingers, and after two more thrusts, the girl burst into a loud moan as hot liquid trickled down your hands, lesser in amount than the two previous ones. Another long but reserved wail escaped her mouth as fingers pulled out of her knuckle after knuckle, before you collapsed into your own massive bed.

You’ve been tired, coming strenuously thrice earlier. Your body screams exhaustion where all you can do was lie on your stomach, weak to even cover yourself with a blanket.

Only a thudding sound and a faint quiver of the bed signaled that the girl flumped on the cushions too. You weren’t looking. Not only was your face stubbornly positioned in the opposite direction with cheeks digging into the pillow, but your eyes were heavily shut too.

Without bothering to speak another word and without warning, you dozed off instantly.

 

*=*= *=*

Monday

The alarm flared long before you woke up. Consciousness knocked when the persistent sun sliced your face with its brightness and heat.

You pushed yourself up only to slump back down, lightheaded and feeble like a sick old man. Butt naked and visible, it did not matter because you were alone, slumped on the king-sized bed amidst an equally vast room.

You’re used to this. It is what you want: fuck, come, and be left solitary without anyone speaking about it.

That had been your life for quite some time now.

It seemed only yesterday when you were casually walking back to your place, holding your girlfriend’s hand under the glow of warm lights. The street noise was muffled while a happy conversation transpires, when out of nowhere the lethal bullet sunk in her head. She was declared dead on arrival at the city hospital minutes later.

You mourned her since that night and through the painful year that followed in a suddenly meaningless life. Now it isn't certain if this was still grief or you just got used to the lifestyle. You’d been indolent, unloaded responsibilities that had previously been fulfilling.

Alcohol was a company, but now, lust was a menacing additional escape.

You reached for the phone across the bed which quickly unlocked upon recognizing your face. It displayed the messaging app you failed to exit the night before: 

 

Chancellor100   
  
**Yesterday**  
Will be at your penthouse by midnight.  
23:12  
Door’s not locked.  
****23:32

 

‘Friends with benefits’ was the common term to describe such arrangement. Except, you were not friends. Your hand travelled to all curves of the girl's body and tasted every pore in her skin, but you barely look at each other's faces. She never went to your place except at night and never lingered in the morning.

The arrangement was perfect, going on for weeks you did not count. What mattered was that she reaches out on her miserable days and you invited her over when you felt the same.

The list of words you shared was short: “Hey”; “Please”; “Faster, Harder, Deeper”; “Don’t stop”; “Fuck”; “Yes”. The rest could be told by hand jobs.

Your cousin thankfully found her, and set this thing up. It's a reprieve from hitting on random women at the bar. You hated feigning interest in someone, unable to stand the genuine look on their faces which you could only reciprocate with a well worn façade.

You closed the app and phoned the office.

Operations was going well for the day. Great. And after confirming attendance on Friday’s meeting, you weakly threw the phone back to the pillow without hanging up.

 

* * *

 

You hurried down the same street in the same neighborhood you’ve grown familiar with. You bought the same latte in the same coffee shop, wearing the same clothes you slept in. No, the persistent soreness between your legs was a valid reminder that you slept without clothes last night.

Another sex, another satisfactory night gone.

You took the subway and alighted after two stops where you own penthouse was a block away. You headed straight to shower, you loved the steam on your face and hot water on you skin, and after the events of last night, you needed to clean your body thoroughly.

Not that you were complaining.

In search for a moisturizer, you rummaged in a counter drawer and accidentally fingered a box of the ‘Morning-After Pill’ you no longer take. It made you snort, realizing how much you appreciate gay coitus. Frowning in shame to have underestimated its conspicuous benefits before. How easily it erased your pregnancy paranoia and how impressively it made you come. Multiple times. In one night. In ten minutes. In five. Whatever.

Your knowledge of your sexual partner was as good as hers: vague. A tangible shape encased with thick mist.

The idea came from a friend, asking you to try this ‘fuck buddy’ shit. She set you up with a woman, who was some cousin of the boss of the sister-in-law of a young neighbor's ex-colleague. Well, at least that was how you grasped the complicated connection you narrowly paid attention to.

It was daunting at first given that you’ve never slept with a stranger before. A woman, once, in a very distant and immaterial high school incident, but never a stranger. The thought rendered you hesitant until your friend vouched for this woman’s ethical character.

Huh, ethical.

Anyways, no, it was the boss of the neighbor of some young ex-colleague of whoever the holy fuck was that, who vouched for the woman you were being whored into.

And with the kick of bottom’s up tequila shots, god help you, you believed it. You gave it a go.

Then you came up with this codename bullshit to avoid any personal link to your ‘partner.’ You forced her to agree that whatever transpired in bed, you will remain as what you had started: strangers. Needless to say, the woman was cooperative. She complied to all of your privacy conditions. It all worked. What’s best was that the woman buried your struggles. Temporarily, but still..

 

* * *

 

Friday

 

The morning swam with crammed data and colorful charts on revenues and targets. Sitting patiently at the edge of the long table, you analyzed, stitching up conclusions on the figures presented while forming logical judgment about the strained people in the room. Only speaking when necessary but leaving everyone else’s mouth shut or agape with your minimal words. Mostly, you listened.

An hour in and you politely excused yourself, irked by the hypocrisy of half the people in that Board. You agreed to your charming secretary’s insistence and finished two cups of coffee and burdened the floor with your presence for another ten minutes before finally asking to be driven home.

Your penthouse had the grandest furniture you’d spent cents of your fortune with. So far, those dull earth hues which pestered the living room, dining and kitchen were your preference. They change occasionally depending on which theme stimulated your interest. But no matter the renovations, the space was still the same empty pad as any other day.

You were subconsciously dragged to the bar by your feet. Sitting on a high stool, a half-filled rock glass rested on your hand. The afternoon went by as you barely moved, watching batches of cars halt on red lights and advance on greens, admiring the cheery pedestrians walking back and forth the street. They’re clearly strong people to have withstood their problems and could manage to laugh through them.

Do they even have problems though? Nah, everyone has problems. Too bad you belonged to the cluster who deals with issues terribly.

The sky began to darken, your house will soon demand artificial lighting. A heavy sigh escaped your lungs, holding your phone and tapping the chat app you itched to open since two hours ago.

You scrolled down pointlessly and scrolled back up to where you intended to go in the first place. You punched some texts, doubted the sentence, rephrased. With a crinkle of nose, rephrased again, deleted everything but two words and hit send.

 

* * *

 

Today's shift flew by without much activity for the day. Mostly, you helped tend to flu patients which made you wash your face and limbs twice than required. You frowned at how your ID picture turned out ugly, looking more like a mug shot than an aspiring medical professional’s identity card, and tossed it to the locker along with an outdated pager.

You’ve stepped out of the scrub suit when your phone buzzed, a call from your mom where you agreed to show up at dinner in some nearby Italian restaurant. You hang up but didn’t set the phone down. There was nothing interesting in the flood of notifications, save for one message you can’t simply ignore:

 

 

Commander12   
  
**Today**  
Busy tonight?  
18:18

 

Huh. This is getting more frequent than you initially thought.

Well, Fridays were drinking nights with fellow residents. The Sky bar across the street accommodates your group well, having  practically claimed a booth in that place with the flag of Arkadia Medical Center residents invisibly displayed as a centerpiece on that corner table. It was a chill gathering really. You come and go as you want, sometimes leaving at 11pm, sometimes at 6am. Sometimes there were ten interns who went, sometimes three. But there was never a Friday when no resident occupied that booth. 

The door swung and some grumpy-looking intern barged in, heavy stomps announcing her arrival. You wondered how that was possible given that all interns wore crocs, and then clanks of metal followed from the aisle she disappeared into.

Wow, did she just euthanize a patient or something?

You realized only then that you still weren’t wearing anything besides underwear. Though who cares, this was the women's locker room.

Still clutching your phone, you decided to go to The Sky bar after dinner, needing a booze before you saunter your way into sleeping with the same stranger for the second time in six days.

Again, not that you were complaining.

You typed a firm response and dressed up.


	2. Chapter 2

Saturday-ish

 

Only scattered city lights illuminated the dark bedroom. They were little and sparse, almost negligible.

Your back rested against the board of the bed, tucked under thick and warm comforters from waist down. No matter how expansive, you occupied just a tiny space at the side far from the door.

The knob clicked after a polite knock and the person you expected gingerly went in. “Hey,” she greeted.

You nodded in acknowledgement even though you knew she wasn’t looking. She dropped her handbag on the nightstand, took a few stuff from it and disappeared back to the hall, quietly closing the door behind her.

That was her routine : knock, enter, drop stuff, freshen up and go back.

You wanted to offer your en-suite bathroom so she need not cover flights of stairs. But she never asked or attempted to use it despite being aware of its existence. So you decided against bringing the it up, thinking that perhaps it was another privacy matter she refused to overstep.

Yeah, after blatantly crossing all the most private ones. 

You extended both arms under the sheets, sliding your panties down. It was the only bottom garment left after you’ve kicked your thin pajamas earlier.

Your oversized shirt was halfway up when the door opened again. It did not stop you from stripping. You’ve done this before. She knows it. She knows your torso. She knows the silhouette of your bust. 

At the side of your eyes, you watched her familiar shadow untangle the sash of the robe that hid her frame. She requested for a towel the first time she appeared, for reasonsyou’ve figured out. The day after, you found herself in a luxury store in that City of Lights district, searching for pleasant robes that might fit her. Since then, the main bathroom had at least one clean towel to wipe her dry, and a robe to properly cover her naked body as she walked around the penthouse.

It did not mean you cared. It was more like a subtle hope that a simple generosity could in some way, repay a nameless sexual partner who consistently asked for no attachments in return. One who unknowingly provides more than the comfort you seek. One who had never once rejected any of your invitations, nor disappointed you in bed and had equally acknowledged your prowess without the need for words. She was intelligent, that much is plain, considering the conditions she’d lain as boundaries.

You withstood almost a week of not having her around. But today was a strain. The office was a quicksand and you needed rescue.

As the coat fell, the outline of her round and massive breasts took shape. Her smooth hair which ended just below her shoulders covered none of it and your hands itched to palm them.

She slid inside the sheets, causing cool air to enter the blankets you now shared. The air brushed your thighs and would’ve felt cold had you not been so flushed.

You inhaled heavily and turned sideways, unexpectedly finding that she was looking right at you too. And you realized you were still capable of shivering after all.

Before you was the clearest picture of her face that you were ever going to get. The shape was roughly square or round. She had a cleft chin, you discovered, more because of your thumb than your eyes. Under the darkness, it was clear that her hair was a fair shade. Blonde certainly, the shade you liked most.

She had pale eyes too but you refused to guess what color they were. Because then you would form an almost concrete image in your mind, and this whole anonymity arrangement would turn deceitful.

If you were to accidentally meet somewhere though, would you be confident to conclude each other’s identity? Probably not. Perhaps the equal awkwardness she will mirror will confirm both your suspicions.

Until then, the layer of fog remains. It was as though you know her face but you don’t. Not really.

 

* * *

 

 

Five seconds. That’s how long you’ve had been locking eyes with her.

Five seconds you’ve counted with the loud beats in your chest. This had not happened before. It was usually just sex and nothing else. You both will avert glances the moment they threaten to meet. Which is why these five seconds equals an eternity for two people who knew naught about each other, and were only spending limited hours in the same dark room for sexual purposes.

But tonight’s gaze was like a vacuum, a black hole forcing you in. And it’s confusing as hell.

The woman was gorgeous, that much is easy to comprehend. Strands of thick hair fell in immaculate waves down her shoulders and her lips were full beneath the shadows. God. You could’ve sketched her, or at least her monochrome figure under the cloud of darkness.

Except, that would indirectly violate the stranger bullshit you yourself invented.

Unsure of what to do, you leaned closer, latching your mouth into her lips to erase the distance that allowed this unnecessary gazing. She gasped but didn't let go and only snaked her tongue promptly into your open mouth. A tang of alcohol coloring her taste, as always.

She scooped you by the waist. And in the next second, you were pinned against the leather headboard with the woman kneeling and conveniently sandwiched by your widely spread legs.

You hated that your chest thrummed needlessly. And you restrained a moan when warm palms pressed at your knees before they slid slowly. Every finger traced your skin, falling lower and lower down your thighs. The sensation tickles and it was like..

Fuck.

You pulled back from the kiss, desperate for oxygen. But the space only made your gazes meet again.

And for the first time in several weeks, you fell into a genuine interest. Your brain sparked because for the first time, Clarke Griffin asked herself who this woman before her was.

You were sweating excessively even though what you’ve only done so far was move your jaw and open your legs.

And can this enticing woman just stop looking back at you already?

You can’t stop hovering your eyes on the marvel that the dim orange light did to the her cheekbones. The daze was too much, it left you numb at the long fingers that slowly crawled up your waist. And only found your senses back when her thumbs brushed beneath the heavy circles of your breasts.

You gulped. You’ve been turned on since opening that bedroom door. Well, maybe your panties were damp since stepping out of the Sky bar, after being finally alone and undistracted and all you could picture was your fuck buddy fucking you. 

What you didn’t envision though were these sticky stares that is so unfamiliar to both of you.

You refused to ponder on what this meant so you leaned forward for another kiss. It was answered with two hands claiming your breasts, her body heat searing through your skin with every gentle knead. Your hand traced her toned abs which contracted as the woman struggled to balance on both knees.

She is so fucking hot.

She pulled you closer, looping her eager fingers round your neck, and you groaned when her smooth thigh inadvertently swept against your damp center.

“Fuck me,” you coerced into her mouth.

Not only was sex the only reason you were invited here, but at that point, you also needed a release with familiar, skillful fingers inside of you.

But the woman responsible for your dripping core seemed to have other plans. She gripped your wrist which was still joyously exploring an impressive abdomen and dragged it down so that wet, hot and slick folds pressed against your suddenly shuddering fingers.

 

* * *

 

 

Her hand was unstable.

And you were pleased both with the vibration and the perceptible nervousness the blonde before you was feeling.

Did you cause it? Was it because your eyes locked twice?

Thing is, you were uncharacteristically disturbed too. But you weren’t ready to allow a drop of emotion slip from that cage you’ve tucked them with. Though you had to admit that this girl, who’s currently cupping your most private part deserves more credit.

But you would not let that show, of course. You kept your cool. Lexa Woods always kept her cool.

Her thumb began circling your clit while the other fingers stroke your entrance. You moaned into the girl’s neck, trying not to bite its fine skin while the sensual feelingbelow forced your legs further apart.

Your leg knew how wet she was. You felt her dampness spreading to her inner thighs. But you were more desperate to come. You needed to be relieved of this growing arousal and flush your troubles with it.

“Fuck me,” you husked the same command beneath her ears.

There was a soft groan before a clammy hand grabbed your jaw only to pull it sideways into an open-mouthed kiss.Your tongue pressed into hers aggressively when two careful fingers slowly sliced through you. “Ahhh..” Fuck you need this.

Her fingers began to slide in and out and you bucked your hips to match the motion. The movements only increased the pleasure, with her fingers hitting spots that woke all your nerves.

You gripped the headboard for support while your legs start to weaken. The bed squeaked like it can shatter inminutes but you didn’t care. A replacement can easily be ordered in the morning.

Your pelvis rocked forward and in circles, climax building as you pant at the crook of the girl’s neck. Her free fingers hovered across your abs, brushing delicately as though the blonde girl wished to memorize every arc.

But after a few more thrusts, you can no longer pay attention to anything else.

“Coming.” your voice cracked before cum dripped down the blonde’s fingers which your kept riding until the spasms faded.

She withdrew after moments and your thighs gave. You slowly collapsed to the balls of your feet, breathless but practically satisfied.

 

* * *

 

 

It was the sexiest thing. The scene could very well play in your mind for days. Her biceps tightening at every merciless grip on the headboard, her firm abs beneath your hands, your fingers enveloped by contracting velvety walls until they were bathed with burning fluid that slid to your fist..

The woman’ face was slightly bowed while she caught her breath. And your eyes settled on her forehead where few strings of tousled hair, damp with perspiration, had dropped. You wanted to reach out. To pluck the threads away from there. You wanted to comb those waves until your fingers disappear beneath the thick volume of strands.

But you can’t. Because what would that mean? Plus, what sort of reaction will that earn you? And it isn’t as though you had strength left to stand another eye contact.

But your heart still pounds and you didn’t know why it ached for something you don’t understand.

The woman didn’t resist when you gently pulled her neck, patting her head gently to coax her to rest on your shoulders. Her locks mussed your neck in the process, and well fuck it. She stiffened when your hand carefully crawled up her forehead, and you needed to stop. Moving only when she began to relax.

Grasping the gesture as permission, you slowly plucked the stray curls away and pushed it up her head. You almost smiled when she allowed such contact until you realized you were the one who drew so many lines in the first place.

You continued to brush her hair even after her forehead was free of curls, massaging her scalp until her pants dwindled and her breathing stabilized.

 

* * *

 

 

It was very soothing, you hoped she won’t stop. But you need to refrain from getting lost in the sweet smell of her blonde hair. So you slowly pulled away. For a moment, you found that her eyes werepressed shut. It made you wonder why yours weren’t because they should be. That was the safest way you could avoid the sight of each other.

Then the girl’s eyes slowly moved until they opened in time for you to avert your gaze.

She pushed you down, dirtying your shoulders with the cum that still coated her hand.

“Please,” she pleaded with that raspy, nasal sound of hers. That voice was something darkness can’t conceal. You remember it well, and could perhaps identify its sound at the middle of a bar or a restaurant.

She slid down until she was lying flat on the mattress. Under you. A chill lined your spine when you looked down because your eyes met again. This time longer than legal in the context of your terms.

Her stare was blank, her lips parted. She was attractive even in darkness, it tempted you to turn even the faintest light on just to clearly see her face. Butt you brushed the thought away. You can’t go there.

You blinked to break the stare and pressed both hands on either side of her face. You leaned down to offer her lips a smooth kiss before crawling lower. Pressing kisses on the her cleavage, on her stomach and at her curvy hips and finally, your tongue brushed the girl’s clit.

“Fuck,” her raspy voice wailed.

Soon, your face was smeared with wetness as the blonde began rocking her hips against your mouth, guiding you to places she needed the pressure. You grabbed her ass only to sink your tongue deeper into her slick hole.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” the girl managed, one hand griped the bedsheets and the other grappled the pillow beneath her head. “Ahh.. don’t stop!”

The howls were encouraging, making your tongue glide deeper and flick in expert strokes. “Faster. I’m close,” she panted and you obeyed, not bothering to wipe the saliva and other fluids dripping from your chin. You cherished the sinful noises and half-words that filled the air, though it was’t pleasing how they didn't include her name.

“Fuuucckkk!” Her growl filtered through all corners of the room before your waiting tongue welcomed a hot and milky release. You swallowed and lapped, trying to contain the orgasm in your mouth. Every drop that spilled to the sides was a modest regret.

Her cum was a syrup of distinct salty and acidic proportions you’ve grown to adore. Since that first time, many many weeks ago, if you were honest.

But at that point you were far from honest. Especially through the succeeding encounters, after you realized that the girl was starting to get addicting. No one, not even the lover you mourned made your head reel with her mere taste. But you were not honest. Right now, you dared not be honest. You somehow ceased from being honest.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Saturday

 

Through half-opened eyes, your naked and sweaty body presented itself. It may have been noontime judging from the light that filtered through the blankets you were curled under. Your head didn’t throb, though there was a faint soreness between your thighs. Glancing down, it was apparent that your formerly well-defined abs were starting to regain fat. 

This unfortunate catastrophe must be resolved immediately. 

You twisted sideways. She wasn’t there.

You scooted lazily to her side of the bed and finally broke free from the covers that wrapped you, squinting at the punishing an blinding daylight. There was an uncharacteristic itch on your nose and before you knew it, you were sneezing like crazy.

Ugh. These filthy linens need to go.

You phoned the laundry service while reaching for your oversized shirt, setting the phone on speakers so you could toss the garment over your head and wear it properly. The call ended with ‘see you’ and ‘thanks’ before you hurled your phone back to the mattress.

Rubbing your sleepy eyes, you swung both feet down the edge of the bed and headed for the door.

“Holy- Ouch!” you exclaimed as a shocking pain stung from below. You fell back to bed instantly, wide eyed on the little blood streaming from your foot.

The spring of what looked like a small notebook punctured your big toe.

"Damn it!" Your stable fingers, now slightly drenched with hot blood, carefully pulled the metal out of a tight flesh. The cut was deep, almost reaching the nail.

“Why on earth is there a note-“ and then it clicked. It was hers. She must have forgotten to stash it in her handbag. Or it may have fallen accidentally, who knows. Regardless, the thing lay on your carpet and you were careless enough to have stepped on it. Eyes closed, partly clothed and all alertness absent. That’s unacceptable.

But, who could possibly predict? Never had any debris been scattered on your floor, save for now. Perhaps it’s high time you remind yourself on the repercussions of letting people into your house. Or into your life?

So, how on earth are you supposed to plank now? There goes your core workout even before you resumed the routine.

You grunted as the minor pain resumed. This seems really foreign given that the last time you incurred a physical wound was ages ago. You clutched the leaking foot once again, searching around for any cloth you could wrap it with and settling on facial tissues when no cloth was in sight. Soon, a damp and messy bundle was wrapped around the wound.

The medicine cabinet was downstairs, so you huffed and gathered yourself up. Toe raised with caution not to hit the floor or anything solid as you limped your way forward, nearby furniture and walls providing assistance.

The door was at arm's reach when that unwelcome nose itch resurfaced. You clutched the knob and threw your head back before releasing another violent sneeze.

God damn it!

 

* * *

 

 

 

You’ve been aware you left it there since the first subway stop. Well, it was just a sketchpad, nothing much to see but pages of little drawings you hoped she won’t figure out. You could’ve dismissed the mishap if not for your mom’s privilege parking card slipped at its inside pocket. And God, your clumsiness is remarkable.

It shouldn’t surprise you. As soon as you wake up in that bed, in that place, you immediately feel anxious. You wanted to dress and hurry out the door in two seconds. If at all possible, you would’ve teleported your way out of that penthouse. It wasn’t shocking that something would slip at some point.

And why though? Why be scared that she would wake up and see you? You both have been in this mess. Surely, she will be humiliated too once you were engaged eye to eye in broad daylight.

But you’ve practiced it so skillfully, looking everywhere in that large room except where she laid. It wasn’t much of a challenge. Mornings there were mostly her, facing the opposite wall, the glass one, leaving you with only a thick volume of brown hair to see; or her, beneath and fully hidden under her white comforters. It wasn’t as though you could peek beneath the sheets while she was sound asleep.

Though there was one occasion when she was impossible to ignore. That one time all blankets slid off of her. She still wasn’t facing you and that mop of hair faithfully cloaked her head, but her body was in full display. Laying flat on her stomach, butt naked. And fuck, even through your half-awake state, half-rested body, and with your center still sore from the night’s glorious assaults, you just- just - couldn’t quash your arousal that morning. You were so wet, you could’ve touched yourself then, but you spent minutes pacing beside the bed, aching for her to do it instead, stupidly considering to wake her up. You did not want to leave and stood there foolishly until you finally decided you were more scared to stay.

Huh. Now the memory played uncontrollably in your brain and you pressed your eyes shut. Nope. that only made it worse. Through the blackness of your eyelids, you saw her slender form, her evenly tanned skin, the curve of her voluptuous ass, you saw the tattoo on her right arm, and that on her back which you did not understand but decided was badass regardless. Wow, you apparently have seen so much of her.

And then your thoughts slowed, scenes shifting to last night’s long stares. You lost yourself several times there. Literally lost without any resolution whatsoever. After weeks of just sex. Months.

Is this even right anymore?

You shook your head and prodded into that Eggs Benedict you prepared for yourself. Mmm, nice. Okay, the sketchpad. You resolved to just grab it if she invited you over again, and pray that your mom wouldn’t nag about her privilege parking soon. Yeah, that’s the plan. 

Except, your bed partner had just asked you over last night and the next one would probably be.. not too soon. Maybe another week. Or even never. You both didn’t exactly specify how long this shit would last. 

It’s dizzying, these thoughts that ran in your head. _Not too soon.. never.._ why does that feel so disappointing?

 

* * *

 

 

You glared as your family doctor disappeared into the exit hallway.

He washed the wound, poured a sharp-smelling solution and sheathed it with gauze. _No signs of infection_ , he assured you. But still insisted for a tetanus shot as preventive measure. It would’ve been altogether fine, except he brought some crutches ‘in case you needed them.’ The death glare you answered him with did nothing. He proceeded to leave them behind, leaning the damn sticks against the living room couch you were currently slumped in. One leg atop a fluffy pillow, was instructed to lessen any locomotion, was asked to immediately call if anything felt worse. It was a simple cut on one toe and he treated you like an athlete who fractured a shin.

At least the sneezing stopped. Those flu tablets seemed very effective.

Without much to do, your eyes searched for the TV control. You found it within arms reach, but it was the small notebook that caught your eyes, sitting idly on where your family doctor had left it. At its top right was a graphic sticker you decided meant nothing, on the opposite edge, still protruding askew was the spring that had you injured. You seized it with an outstretched hand and flopped back hard on the couch, puzzled on the notebook’s content.

She wanted privacy, doesn’t she? But scribbles won’t reveal so much. Not a clear version of her face at least, and hopefully not a full profile that includes her address. Peeking won't cross any major line, right? Your mind debated for two more minutes until the evil force won and you eventually flipped the covers open.

It was a sketchpad. The pages had no lines and would’ve looked clean if not for the tiny blotches of blood that tainted its top. Thanks to you. You’ve wiped the front and back parts earlier, stains gently sliding from its plastic material. But you can’t do much with the reds that had seeped through the papers inside.

Several pages were used, but the drawings, meticulously traced as they are, were so small and only occupied the bottom corner of the page. The first was a coffee cup and the next ones looked like window panes displaying different city landscapes.

She made a flip book, you concluded when the images made sense after you flipped the pages with your thumb, rapidly turning them by the edge to create a short animation of what you supposed was a train ride. It may well be the city subway but you cannot be certain. You know naught about subways given that the only train ride you had was in a foreign country, on a vacation with your parents decades ago.

Regardless, it was easy to judge that apart from her talent in bed, and the cautious wisdom behind her bargains, you could add a terrific drawing skill to the list of her characteristics. Many of which have yet to be uncovered.

And even as you stared at a blank white page, your vision was filled with black and a rough figure of her face from last night. But, while her taste still rolled in your tongue’s memory, and although her startled gaze and parted lips flash in fragments across your mind, you know they meant nothing. She shouldn’t mean a single thing to you, because that is how you are to her.

Still, you can’t shake this persistent curiosity, tickling your supposedly sound brain. Fueling a little spark of desire to learn more of her, to understand the person she was. To know why she chose to be trapped in this situation with you. Was she grieving too? Was she forcing herself in this?

Nah, probably not. Doesn’t seem like it. Right?

You raised the pad to your nose, flipping the pages again, slowly this time, scanning the small drawings and used pages for letters. Because artists were supposed to conceal their names behind some strokes, those obscure characters lurking at the corners or at the base.

With a sigh, you relented after three attempts, a frown on your face, because she clearly have not done this.

Who was this person you have been sleeping with?

You closed the notebook, a possibly invaluable item that may have slipped her notice. You chanced a side glance on your phone. Right, she have not sent a text about its loss. Or any message for that matter. That ten-minute interval you’ve unconsciously set in checking your phone had clearly been useless. But you should've figured. She’s a vampire. Won’t be coming to collect an item while the sun is up.

You planted your back deeper into the soft pillows. You rested there, cherishing the comfort of your couch. And with her sketchpad resting on your belly and your head pinned to the ceiling, you allowed yourself to breathe steadily. Thinking. Just thinking.

 

* * *

 

Sunday-ish

 

You pressed the topmost button as the double doors closed and you were hoisted up. So, you are here again after seventeen hours. Not for anything else, but to retrieve a precious property. One which isn’t exactly sought out yet, but might just assert its necessity soon. Or so you told yourself.

You had drinks with your colleagues right after dinner. Have been pushed to come here by some cocktails and a pep talk from that Psychiatry resident who said ‘ _if something fun is going on in your life, take care of it while it lasts_.’ You’ve eavesdropped while the Psych guy loudly delivered his 2 cents to that other resident who was intently listening at the booth corner, opposite him. The next thing you knew, you were half-sober-half-drunk texting Commander12, being the only person you’ve associated with that stupid piece of advice that wasn’t even intended for you.

The elevator dinged at the halt and you stepped out. The same floor lamps and a set of turquoise vases greeted you, that pair of abstract earth painting you admired still accented the foyer’s walls. The first time you were here, the designs were all metal and glass, the furniture inside chrome and black. Very extravagant, it looked more like a showroom than an actual residence.

And then on your fourth visit, everything had suddenly been replaced to greens and blues, even the carpet have changed. You almost lost your mind that night, thinking you stepped into the wrong place, heart thudded in your chest, paranoid and scared you would end up sued for fucking trespassing.

But it was the right place, of course. You concluded later that the interior had only been magically substituted with an entirely different theme. Commander12’s pockets extend to the depths of hell, certainly. Not that you were impressed by the ostentation that was clearly not meant to astonish you.

The deserted living room was per usual, quiet and undisturbed, only kept alive by the dance of incandescent lights from a series of wall lamps. Except, tonight, the smell of freshly brewed coffee invaded the space. It made you look around, partly expecting to find her, not knowing what to do in the event you did. There were no movements though, the large area was rather empty, with you being the only occupant. You took time to appreciate the picturesque city skyline, inhaling steadily as coffee aroma soothed your fading lightheadedness, being still faintly affected by booze. You let some minutes pass just being there, before you quietly ascended up the staircase.

You tapped the wooden door once and sauntered in the same dim room. The familiar shape of her side was what you first saw. Clothed, thick hair flowing down her shoulders, duvets up to her hip, pressed in place by a pillow where her hands were thrown leisurely. She was in her spot. That side at the far end, away from where you came and went. Probably finding it ridiculous that you had all day to be at her place but still chose to be here at almost midnight.

“Hey,” you greeted and she nodded, the way she does every single time.

You weren’t wrong to guess that the sketchpad was on the nightstand, which you reached in short steps. You picked the pad up, clipped it to your chest and faced her. “Thanks,” you muttered just as your eyes bulged, surprising even yourself. Because you weren’t supposed to speak a mundane word in this place. And biting your tongue after was a little too late.

Her reaction was minimal, a centimeter jerk of the head, which would've gone unnoticed if you weren’t intently observant. She did not provide a verbal answer though, nor spare a noticeable nod. So you decided that was it, you need to go. Besides, you only came here to fuck and since tonight obviously isn’t for that purpose, then you might as well just leave. You then clenched your sketchpad tighter and turned toward the door.

“You can stay,” her stern voice floated from behind, not loud nor soft. “It’s late.”

The tone was flat. Not dismissive, not encouraging but nonetheless enough to make you freeze.

Her words hang in the air as you stood motionless by the doorway, your brain filled with everything except any idea on what to say or what to do next. Short as it was, this exchange had been the longest verbal conversation you shared since you requested for a stupid towel that first night. And no matter how impassively she delivered her recent statements, the gesture itself warmed your not entirely sober heart.

Well, you didn’t mind staying. Honestly, you wanted to. Your penthouse was dull and cheerless. Plus, with alcohol still traveling through your bloodstreams, another subway commute will definitely be less preferable compared to a cozy place where you could readily rest.

And, you can’t deny that it had been more than nice sleeping with - the literal _sleeping with_ \- a trustworthy person beside you. Yup, to date, you are convinced she’s trustworthy. She was a pleasant company, taciturn and just lets you be. Had never pressured you into revealing your identity, even though sometimes you feel like you wanted to. With her, that emotionless sexual partnership taboo which you detested before, had strangely been charmingly acceptable.

You pivoted back. She wasn’t looking of course, head straight, facing the front wall and whatever may be interesting there. You finally caught a thought, and needed to clarify something. “If I spent the night, do we have to-”

“No,” she answered quickly, grasping the question you haven’t finished asking. “Not if you don’t want to.”

By some means, you managed to offer a minimal nod, assuming that you were on the same page. _Hoping_ that you were on the same fucking page. Or should you say, not-fucking page?

Your brain emptied again, and your feet helplessly planted there, facing her with nothing to say until she broke the minute-long silence, head still focused away from where you stood. “There’s a guest room across the hall. In case you wish to sleep elsewhere.”

What?

While you appreciate the hospitality, there’s this ring to that suggestion you dislike, the positive feeling in your chest vaporized, a tad burn in your ear perceptible. Whether you were upset or if it was just alcohol, you weren’t sure. You’ve reached the euphoria stage of drunkenness hours ago, had managed to shred chunks of the intoxication off by sweating it out and chugging volumes of water. But, because your nerves still suffer from a boost in confidence and poor judgment, you were bold enough to calmly argue. “Why did you assume I’d want that?”

This time she bothered to twist her head to your direction, her gorgeous face masked by dark shadows. “I understand you wanted to stay at arm’s length,” she pointed out, sounding a little confused. “It’s midnight and I could tell you aren’t exactly sober. I just thought, if you declined to stay just because you refuse to share the bed-”

“I’ll sleep in this room,” you declared, more intense than intended, cutting her off. The words just fell from your mouth. Had it been wrong to ask if you needed to fuck?

“Look,” you toned down, swallowing, fist curled to balls. But for some reason, her face that was still pinned at you kept the looming tension at bay. “I’m sorry that I even brought the sex up. To be clear, it _definitely_ wasn’t suggestive of any rejection whatsoever. But I just didn’t expect you would cast me out-”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to-”

“I know.” 

Silence. Deep, soundless breathing. Tongues purposely held. You have no recollection on how much time had passed while you both froze there, just staring at each other in darkness, waiting for the other to speak her mind. But no speech came, until she quietly leaned back in bed, head once again plastered to the front wall. 

You then proceeded to let your bag fall from your hands, taking some kits and a thin pack of sleepwear you would use for the night, your hands moderately shaking.

It was when you were halfway toward the door that she spoke again. “There’s Ibuprofen in the kitchen island,” she informed you. Her voice now transformed into softness and concern, as though you haven’t been engaged in an almost heated discourse moments ago. “Espresso too, if that suits your system.”

The warmth in your heart resurfaced then. And though you planned to push your coffee consumption in the morning, an insistent smile pulled your lips to the sides, whilst you realize that the beverage, whose scent filled the floor below, had most probably been prepared for you.

“Thank you,” you finally whispered over your shoulder, letting the tone be tainted by genuine gratitude and the smile that still arched your mouth.

You didn’t turn though, but just slowly advanced to the door, thinking about the light argument you shared earlier. You told her _you knew_ , as an assurance that you understood. And had there been enough lighting, you would have searched her eyes, if that would escalate the sincerity in your words. In the dim atmosphere however, you've pronounced the phrase in a tone that sounded like a promise. One which was evidently enough to make the message come across. 

You understood that she was only trying to stay within the boundaries you've set for the both of you. The thing is, lately, it felt like those lines that limit your interactions had been a mistake. A gnawing fault that some parts of you ached to correct. Especially tonight, when her gestures appealed to you. Some stupid display of kindness as though she somehow _cared_.

And as you reached the doorway, gripping the metal knob, head still swimming with delusions, her low voice resumed from behind. 

“Take your time,” she breathed. “I’m just here. I’ll wait for you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Under five minutes passed since she closed the door behind her.

You slid both legs down and walked unevenly towards the chaise lounge, directly struck by a slice of moonlight. You didn’t sit. But instead picked the bottle of liquor on the side table and poured a decent amount in a snifter.

With one elbow clipped, you held your first drink of the day just under your chin, eyes regarding the fragment of the city that was visible through a wide gap between the drapes.

It’s funny how just yesterday afternoon you were almost in the same position, with a heavy chest caused by some enemies who purports as friends.

That sentiment was all but gone, plucked away by a silhouette of a woman who buried it deeper and had it overlapped with a different feeling you can’t quite place.

Her recent words haunt you. Sounding sorry, as though she wanted to leave her doors open. And now you sought alcohol, not out of loneliness nor for sex, but to drown a potential feeling threatening to break free from your chest. One that may have strongly been suppressed by all her restrictions.

You emptied the glass in one go, caused a clink on the table as you lowered it back.

The reflection on the floor to ceiling window was almost clear. Shoulders broad, chin raised, and standing tall despite a damaged foot.

What sort of madness is this?

Perplexed. Perhaps that’s a close guess on this state you were in. You were confused. Of yourself, of how your emotions react lately to that woman who had just left the room.

Amidst being puzzled over the person she was, you felt rather _drawn_ and it’s the most preposterous thing. Unnecessary and uncharacteristic.

Could it be possible to like someone you haven’t seen entirely, but rather just repeatedly touched? Someone you at least knew had an inviting voice, an addicting taste and a pleasing prowess in bed? Someone who sends you drunk texts at the middle of the night, making you smirk because you find them cute even though that’s all they were : drunk damn texts? Someone who isn’t hesitant to invade your personal space not only out of some explicit accords, but also because she was unaware of your social status; the same status that encourage insecurity or wicked agenda on others? And most of all, a blonde with a beautiful mind that challenges you with bargains and arguments you did not expect but nonetheless startle and impress you?

Could it be possible?

And if it was, could the feeling be crushed at the earliest stage? 

Damn it.

You bent forward and filled the balloon glass once again.

 

* * *

 

 

You returned to the room wearing tank top and boxer shorts underneath a robe, which you quickly removed and hanged on the coat stand.

It had been a long dilemma actually, deciding if you were to return upstairs stripped or not. Because even though you weren’t expecting to be fucked tonight (which you were still conflicted about), you were curious in the event she asked. Could you even resist?

Would you?

‘Not if you don’t want to,’ she said. How wise to basically throw the ball on your court.

You climbed up the bed where the airspace was saturated with the scent of alcohol that wasn’t there before. Much like your style, she normally indulge in booze before sex and you wondered if this is one of those nights.

“Uhm..” You smoothen the blankets at your hip before carefully turning sideways, letting your eyes land on the exceptional contour of her cheeks. “If you want to, it’s-“

She kissed you.

And the second her plump lips claimed yours, your eyelids collapsed because for some fucking reason you were too overwhelmed to analyze, you melted right there.

She was an outstanding kisser, just the level of aggressiveness you desired. Except, something was suddenly different. She was kissing you lightly, much gentle and careful than ever before. Your jaw was like a delicate feather with the way she cupped its frame.

It was scary to realize that you preferred this array of tenderness over the dynamic power and impassiveness she exhibited before. It was terrifying as hell to think about what it meant. If it meant anything at all.

Your thumb fondled the V-collar of her shirt. “It’s okay,” you mumbled into her mouth, completing the sentence she’d interrupted earlier.

Gentle teeth grazed your lower lip before she pulled back, and you wondered how long had you been kissing because your mouth ended up swollen even through the deliberate gentleness.

She lifted her shirt over her head and threw it leisurely to the floor. Catching the message, you did the same as you watched her reach under the blankets, a prompt for you to discard your shorts and panties too.

Her swollen and parted mouth was waiting by the time you got rid of all your clothes. In seconds, your lips locked and you fingers were laced under her thick curls. Chilly air swept around momentarily in lieu of the blankets you threw aside while you prepare to accommodate her between your legs.

But then -

“Oh! Damn it!"

“Hey,” you grabbed her shoulder, stunned as you watch her agonize over one leg. “What was that?” You needed to check despite knowing that your hands were nowhere but her hair. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Her voice cracked with a weak pain. “It slipped my mind. I have a deep wound.”

Oh. How could you not notice the white bandage wrapping her foot?

You bit your lip before crawling down the end of the bed, adjacent to where she was holding an ankle. “May I?” 

She nodded after moments of hesitation. But her tight grasp was stubborn, forcing you to pry each finger away from her foot. You examined the binding with the aide of pale moonlight and few light sparkles. The absence of blot on the freshly changed gauze meant that the wound did not bleed.

A sigh escaped your lungs and you rubbed the rough dressing with one thumb before raising your eyes to find her watching you. “Are you alright?”

She swiftly nodded, looking suddenly composed. “It twisted when I moved toward you, but otherwise it’s fine.”

You ignored the hint of defensiveness in the tone. “It was a shock,” you concluded. “You stepped on something?”

Her arms were clipped by her diaphragm, just below those small but noteworthy breasts, shape defined and nipples relaxed. It would’ve been a struggle to drag your eyes upward, had her face not been the reward, with her plump lips pulled to the sides in a cocky smirk. “Your sketchpad,” she revealed.

“Oh, Christ!” You groaned and instantly buried your face in both palms. “I’m so sorry-” 

“Don’t be,” she dismissed with a wave of hand, preventing the spillage of apologies you were about to babble.

“I was careless. So-” she trailed off and you waited but words did not come because she threw her head back and sneezed intensely into her hands. “Damn! I thought those meds took care of that.”

Holy shit.

You gently let go of her toes and edged off the bed, briskly snatching the tissue box on the nightstand. With an outstretched hand, you presented it to her. “When did your cold start?”

She snatched three single plies and wiped her moist nose, sniffing like a child before responding. “This morning.”

Yeah. The virus was from you. It must have stayed on your neck, a small spot you failed to wash, or have possibly flown to your hair when you returned to pass some keys to your mom.

Your head was slightly bowed in shame as you hovered and reclaimed your place on the other side of the bed. The urge to touch her was overridden by thick levels of guilt even if you thought that this may be a repercussion of her sniffing your hair.

It took two blinks and a minimal shake of head to wash the delusion that she actually smelled your hair.

You cleared your throat, “I think the flu was from me too.”

“You had colds last night?”

“Uh-”

“Huh. We should definitely add that to our agreement. Section 5, Clause 34 : we can’t fuck if one is unhealthy,” she suggested teasingly.

You lowly knelt perpendicular to her thighs. “Okay.”

Her face was impossibly close and you noticed your breath catch as she looked at you expectantly in the darkness.

The proximity mattered less. By now, you both have pieced together a frosted puzzle of each other’s looks.

“Okay. I feel really stupid for not inserting that passage right at the beginning. But, no. I wasn’t suffering from a cold. It’s.. it’s something else.”

She only nodded, quick to gather that the clear answer was an information you were hesitant to disclose. Well, not yet. Not tonight at least.

“But we should definitely need to consider,” she tried again, looking away and thoughtful. “I mean, what if instead of colds, you suddenly had a venereal disease?”

“What?” A half laugh escaped your lungs and you cocked your head to the side urging her to stare back. She did.

Her face was just gorgeous beneath that wave of hair. In truth, the little orange lights suit its sharp edges. One that would’ve compelled thousands of women to bed after one candle light dinner with a date looking this breathtaking. It was so dazzling that you bizarrely caught yourself feeling lucky to have enjoyed such privilege. Of being in her bed, that is. Dinners and candles are obviously a far possibility.

“For months now, you’re the only one I ever had sex with,” you confessed softly. “If I was infected, it would definitely be from you.”

The night you agreed on this business was a ball of blur. But you made it a point to extract a confirmation that the opposite party was negative of any sexual disease. It proved to be true, not one symptom manifested in months. God help you, of all the fluids you’ve interchanged, you sure as hell screwed if she was a carrier.

“Likewise,” she calmly returned. Eyes straight, chest raised as though she was announcing an achievement. “In the same time frame, there’s only one person I’ve shared bed affairs with.”

You tried to ignore the rush of solace and relief sweeping through your chest with her words. You tried not to celebrate that she practically announced that she was offering herself exclusively to you. “So, it’s settled then. No venereal disease of any kind.”

She chuckled and the room fell silent for a while.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered later. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Your heart dropped and you weren’t sure why. Just that it was almost painful that she had to apologize for the kiss you found satisfactory. One that possibly held meaning. Possibly.

_If something fun is going on in your life, take care of it while it lasts_

It may have been that advice, or the biting remorse or the lingering drops of intoxication in your system that had you slid further, and leaned closer to press a light kiss on her cheek.

“Please don’t,” you breathed onto her skin. “Trust me. It’s something you should not apologize for.”

The unease in her body was plain and you realized it was because your bare breasts brushed the tight muscles of her arm.

“If you want to,” she offered. “I could still do marvels with my fingers.”

“While I don’t doubt that,” you admitted with a playful grin crossing your face. Because seriously her fingers were a wonder, skillful and so fucking long that reached so deep inside. And you tried not to think about how your body craved them at that moment, just to focus on her tired, heavy eyes. “I’m pretty sure you need to rest."

You slid off the bed while she snatched tissues from the box on her lap. “You need to get hydrated. I’m getting some water."

She didn’t respond, only watched you silently at the corner of her eyes as you snaked both arms into the silk robe. “And. Could you, for the meantime, abstain from alcohol?” The statement sounded like a nag despite your efforts to make it sound otherwise. “You may feel relieved but it’s not a cure.”

“Sure,” she simply relented, not at all convincing.

Then you headed down to collect a bottle of warm water as promised, lingering longer at the kitchen to breath in the last bits of fading coffee aroma while you try not to overanalyze the ruckus of emotions going on inside you. On your way up, you decided to gather the box of gauze and a small medical set that lay idle on the living room table.

But you apparently consumed way much time with all the nonsense because she was asleep by the time you made it to her room. She was curled sideways with her bare back to the door. She’d covered her chest, but the blanket slid down the middle of her back, where circles and lines of an intricate tattoo accented her steady breathing.

Underscored by glimmering lights, it was a pretty sight.

A distinct tenderness spread across your heart and you unconsciously smiled to yourself.

_Take care of it while it lasts.._

Right at that point, it didn’t seem so difficult.

 

* * *

 

 

Sunday

 

The linens were smooth beneath your bare skin and it appears that sometime during the night your body have found its way under the blankets, save for both feet which were sticking out of the sheets. Unsheltered at daybreak, they felt cold. But it wasn’t the brush of cool air that woke you. The gentle hands that was gripping your foot was.

At first, you deemed it a dream or a hangover until squeaks of shears followed suit and the dressing at your foot was discarded with a careful but swift trim. All movements you must’ve generated then were channeled to a violent clench of teeth. 

A damp cotton was pressed on the wound and soon, pain crept into your flesh as the ointment took effect. She wrapped the gauze all over the affected toe and looped a long strip around the arc of your foot, it almost tickles. She finished with another twirl, fastening the piece with impressive and steady strokes.

Even while you stayed hidden and motionless, your alertness was intact. You waited. Registering every thump of her bare feet on the carpet as she circled the bed. There were ticks which you guessed was her, typing on her phone. Some zizz of vibration that was her phone too. You listened as she rummaged in her purse, keys clashed with objects that made them clank until she finally retrieved her dressing gown and soon, a cautious click closed the door in place.

Even after releasing the breath you were holding, you kept still, waiting for further movements to be sure. When none came, you threw the comforters aside, unleashing your naked body to the empty room. 

The first thing your eyes found was the clean white gauze enveloping your toes, neatly folded in layers with a strip spun around your midfoot. It looked more agreeable than your family doctor’s handiwork. Another one of her talents perhaps.

A sheer talent, or an expertise?

You roused from bed and hobbled forward, striding over last night’s clothes that lay loosely on the carpet. You headed for the bathroom using the wardrobe room entrance.

Both glass walls were fogged with early morning dew. The frost shielded your unclothed body from external onlookers. Gliding birds, to be exact.

You pressed both palms on the sleek sink and paused as two large green eyes looked back at you with interest.

They ask you about the events of last night. Of that shudder you felt when she pressed a peck on your cheek and why you planned to keep to remove this new gauze on your foot for days.

They ask you why you were asking these.

They ask what sort of answers you expect to get.

Damn it.

You washed your face and brushed your teeth, all the while wary to glance at the mirror again.

You finished faster than usual, pressed a dry towel against your wet skin and stepped out of the bathroom, tracing the same tracks you came in until your feet found the warm carpet of the main room.

And it was at that same instant that your bedroom door clicked, freshly closed shut by your blonde sex partner who have just ushered herself back into the room.

“Oh fuck.”

“Oh shit.”

Her robe was worn lousily, wasn’t even tied so it revealed so much skin. Though still a lot of cover compared to a bandage on one foot.

The phone she was clutching almost barreled to the floor. Her clearly shocked eyes widened at the sight of you but soon blinked and composed herself. She quickly spun around, leaving you with only a mat of blonde hair and a stubborn back to explore.

It appears that you were more dumbfounded though. Mouth agape, stomach dropping, all limbs useless and petrified. But unlike her, it wasn’t due to shock. It was out of awe. 

Those eyes you refused to imagine turned out to be the most captivating eyes you’ve seen. Their shade was cobalt. That of the ocean, the sky. Both of which you could easily get lost in. The milky porcelain skin that wrapped her curves appeared as smooth as they felt under your fingertips. And her blonde hair was a crown she wore royally without effort.

It took several moments to sink in.

She was blonde and attractive but you never anticipated that the woman you’ve been boning for months was as ravishing as this. That she was the kind who could leave you on your knees in an ungrudging surrender.

Impressive. Yet extremely frightening.

You didn’t know what to do especially that the air was suddenly soiled with a scent of unease when objects clamored at her purse. And you can’t understand why your entire being pushed you to pacify the atmosphere.

“I thought you were gone,” you softly managed as though that was enough consolation.

“I thought you were asleep,” she spat, the sound muffled by the distance but was otherwise perceptible.

And damn, her voice was just really raspy in the morning. Buzzing your head as though you weren’t already dizzy with hangover and attraction.

“I took a call,” her hoarse voice explained. “I was at the hallway, talking as quietly as possible. Apparently, I didn’t have to.”

You swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry.”

You weren’t really. And you hated to say it to a stranger twice in six hours because you never apologize to anybody. But you did it anyway to console her, even while you knew she was overreacting.

“I didn’t mean to violate any of your rules,” you persisted when she refused to react. “I wanted this to be private but, I didn’t mind if you see me. I never did.”

She offered no answer, but just thankfully stopped her feigned activities. There was silence before her head swiveled sideways. You traced the bends of her jaw and up where a light shade of blush tinted her cheek. Her lips was bashfully pressed together when she pivoted completely, blue eyes finding yours in an instant.

It was as though the world stopped. As though the air stilled so your eyes can examine her without interruption.

You smiled. You smiled. You don’t even do that anymore and the widest curve of lip you’ve done in a year was a smirk. But at that moment you smiled and let it decorate your face as you held her gaze. “Hey.”

The blonde girl sent a shy grin back. “Hey.”

Your spine thundered with electricity, another foreign feeling and you can’t help it.

Her dressing gown was still askew, unfastened, falling sluggishly down one shoulder. The consequence of which was the utter display of one rosy nipple and the half hidden but nonetheless distracting apex of her thighs.

“Why are you up so early?” she innocently asked.

Your eyes dropped to your foot. “You weren’t exactly as discreet as you thought.”

She drew her lips together in a manner that should’ve gone with ‘Oops’ but did not speak.

“Thank you. It’s pretty.”

She snorted and it was adorable. “Well. I caused the injury..” She cut the sentence and blinked. “Uhm- I should get dressed.”

“Oh. Of course,” you didn’t bother to hide the disappointment. “I guess next time, I’ll just try to stay under the sheets.”

“It was foolish.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I mean, we can’t expect to unsee everything. Especially after spending consecutive days together. It was just a matter of time.”

Advancing two steps closer, your eyes tried so hard not to drift down her exposed flesh.. “Shall we revisit our terms then?”

“Maybe,” she supposed. “But for now I need to get dressed.”

“I think you really should.” Control must have betrayed you because you were suddenly gaping at one round and tempting nipple. “Before I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing you back to bed.”

You weren’t sure if lust got the better of you then. Because minutes ago you were convinced she deserved way more than a perverted affair, something you aren’t reluctant to give. For a moment, that was how you felt. For a moment you’ve gone absurd and now you wondered if lust could coat that ridiculous predicament.

“Yeah?” The blush on her cheeks spread and you caught her eyes trailing over your uncovered body. “I could say the same to you.”

You strode forward, eliminating the wide gap that separated you.

She was startled by the recklessness yet made no move to step aside, but just fervently forewarned, “Careful, your foot.”

The wound was unmistakably painful, piercing and biting but it didn’t appear relevant. Nothing else was, until your flushed bodies crashed and your hand claimed the curve of her waist as though she was yours. A supposed gasp faded when your mouth quickly sealed over her soft lips before she let fall the silk robe to the carpet and willingly coiled herself in your grasp.

She paced backward to the bed, dragging your body along given that your mouths were latched and your bodies were fastened by the chests.

You wanted her of course. You ached to fuck her more than ever despite the millions of times you’ve had before.

Her breasts bounced at the impact when she slumped on the mattress by the ass. You cupped them both, kneading them gently even as she glided to the center of the bed and fixed you with a calm blue gaze. “I need to leave in five.”

You nodded, displeased. But you schooled your features to show her you understood the urgency.

Without leaving her eyes, you parted her legs slowly. A little impressed when she betrayed no signs of shame as though months of fucking made it all comfortable.

The last image you saw was that cute spot at the top side of her lip before you let your vision fall to her opened and expectedly glistening center. “Considering how wet you are,” you mumbled, aligning your fingers at her entrance. “I only need two.”

“Yeah?” she encouragingly challenged. 

Your response came with two fingers disappearing slowly inside her soft and slippery folds.

“Oh, God.” She moaned into the air. Her back arched as she lowered on her elbows, making you grab a stack of pillows for her to lean against. The adjustment gave her hip a lift and you used it to plunge deeper, only to pull back out and thrust harder into her velvet hole.

Under the early morning chill, she was panting and sweating as she bucked her hips toward your thrusts. “Faster.”

You pumped in aggressive motion, adding another finger in the process. It left you thirsty, longing to kiss her mouth but was too occupied watching her face with her eyes fluttering shut and lower lip bitten hard. Damn how beautiful she was.

It wasn’t long when her nails hurt the skin of your collar bones and in seconds, she was trembling in your arms as orgasm ripped her being. Wet, hot release spilled out of her core, dripping down your new bedsheets.

Her eyes flipped open and you resolutely held it until her pants receded and you carefully withdrew. 

She rose so that her face fell before your torso and studied you curiously under her lashes. “Three minutes.” 

“I know,” you sighed sounding sad but then she licked your abs and dipped her tongue down to your firm clit and there was nothing you can do but moan. You own heat and the bite of early morning sun made sweat puddle across your exposed skin.

The blonde raised your leg to her shoulder and you struggled to balance that it left you unprepared for the hot, slick, tongue that slipped inside you. “Fuck.”

You brushed some blonde strands away from her forehead before curling your fingers under her locks so you can guide her head to pleasure, until you were pushed too close and over the edge. 

This was by far the most amazing five minutes of your life and you ached to make it last.

She was barely done cleaning your cum when you clutched her wrist and pulled her up to a long, hungry kiss, tasting yourself in her tongue. But after just a few heartbeats she pulled back, her blue eyes searched yours apologetically. “I really need to clean up and leave.” 

“Use my bathroom, please.” 

She politely declined. Then leaned forward to give your lips a soft kiss while a tender hand found your burning cheek. “I’ll use the main one and go,” she whispered at the inexistent distance between your lips. 

And then she retreated from the mattress, so rapidly before you could attempt any protest. In seconds, she was dressed in a robe and her handbag was hooked on her forearm. One brief glance of apology passed before she pivoted on her heels to leave.

“Hey,” you called desperately, kicking some stray pillows aside.

Her hair bounced as she turned. “Hm?”

At the edge of the bed, you knelt on wobbly thighs, but the hand you were holding out was steady, trained and practiced since you were a child.

“I’m Lexa.”

It seemed fitting with all the walls that crumbled that morning. A list of restrictions slashed in half, and your own concrete boundary kicked as though it were sand.

Because now that lust had been fed, when orgasms had all been delivered and dwindled, all that’s left is this raw and innocent desire you refused to acknowledge. One that compelled you to struck your own walls down just so she can comfortably lower hers.

It didn’t help that she was looking at you as though she was willing to submit. It’s unacceptable that you felt as though nothing existed past her beaming blue eyes and that pretty grin that displayed a perfect set of teeth.

It was strange that she seem to welcome this unnecessary advance more enthusiastically than you expected. And for a moment, the daze had you forget where you were. You failed to see the bedroom around you and stopped hearing the faint sound of the city below. Until a hand guided you back to reality. It was smooth when it folded gently against yours.

“Clarke.”

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Your cheek was on fire as you blew past the lobby of her residential tower.

You’ve been floating in air since you left her bedroom, almost tripping at the stairs as you went down. Millions of thoughts ran through your head but you refused to analyze them. If you did, all these will certainly be wrong and you can’t yet let go that it felt so fucking right.

The bath had been quick even as your fingers trembled underneath the hot shower, too shocked and elated at what just happened.

Thank the heavens she wasn’t there when you got out of the bathroom because, god help you, you aren’t sure if you’d be able to leave that penthouse if she was. And then you’d have sex again. And again. Who knows.

It's just impossible and unbelievable.

Impossible how over the fucking top gorgeous she was. Unbelievable how the same fucking gorgeous woman was fucking you for months. How the fuck did you deserve this?

Okay, breathe Clarke.

You were bed partners with an agreement to stay private. Now you went from being strangers without a clear picture of each other’s faces to having sex under bright daylight with every inch of skin exposed from head to toe.And to cap it, learning each other’s names with a firm handshake of course, to formalize it all.

What the holy fuck? This isn’t supposed to happen. 

It isn’t but you let it anyway.

Looking at that face and that body, it wan't a surprise how you just threw all your inhibitions away like you tossed that silk robe to the floor.

In retrospect though, nothing’s changed right? It isn’t a big deal if you isolate whatever transpired this morning. What happens in her penthouse could still stay in her penthouse.

But why doesn’t it feel as simple as it sounds?

 

* * *

 

Chancellor100 (Clarke?)  
  
**Yesterday**  
Listen, I've been drinking.  
Thinking. I've been thinking. Sorry, I'm typing shit on my phone and I don't know why I think about you while I'm drinking.  
19:16  
It's been fun, btw.  
What we have. It's fun.  
Not that I cling to it just for fun.. that's not what I meant.  
Sorry, I'm making it worse. Bye.  
19:30  
Oh, and I left my shetchpad theree.  
I didn't do that on purpose, I swear.  
But I will get it tonite after some one more cocktails.  
19:50  
Okay.  
  
****20:00 We will meet again.  
20:01  
Okay.  
  
****20:30

 

    I hope the rest of your day will be great |

 

    Have a great day ahead |

 

    Have a |

  


 

“Lex?” Anya’s voice made you look up from your phone and quickly hid it in your pocket. She took her coat off and patted it on her lap as she lowered herself on the bench. “Why are we at the park?”

“I wanted a different environment.”

It wasn’t different really. You used to jog here every morning until your quarrel with life a year ago. Anya knows that.

“What’s wrong with your foot?”

“A costly negligence,” you whispered flatly, running your gaze on a row of trees where a series of simple statues have been erected. They weren’t there the last time you were at this park.

“It’s such a random break from your self-inflicted hibernation.” Anya smirked but her tone didn’t reek of sarcasm. It was on contrary very sincere. “I’m glad.”

You verbalize your gratitude through silence and Anya heard it regardless.

She knew you well. She had been there when Nia killed your father, making it appear like a car crash. One where the other vehicle had no registered plate and its driver escaped the scene without a trace.

Anya was also around when your girlfriend’s demise came next just three weeks after his funeral.

A bullet to the head, not at all by chance. You spent a week thinking that perhaps that very shot was for you, until Anya made you see reason. ‘Nia knows you would suffer more if she killed the two most important people in your life. And thereafter hope you’d leave your seat in the company,’ she said while her lap pooled with your tears.

Anya shifted in her seat. “How are you? You’re taking too long to recover.”

“I think.. I think I’m feeling okay.” Anya’s head darted to yours. “Not better. But okay,” you immediately clarified.

Distracted could actually be another adjective. Perhaps that’s good, right? At some point, you forget that you were grieving because you were busy trying to define some unsettling things Clarke made you feel.

Clarke. Yeah, that’s her name. A valuable information she willingly relinquished. Pretty. It fits her.

Right. Now you can’t help but associate her looks as her name plays on your mind.

It had been a struggle to restrict yourself from flying downstairs while she ‘cleaned herself.’ It did not help that you fancied waiting for her by the living room just to bid her a good day before she leaves. Perhaps she’d kiss you lightly again and you’ll shiver.

“What’s wrong with your face?”

“What?” Your hand soared to your face to check if any dirt have attached its filthy self on it.

“Your skin is flawless as always, idiot.” Anya chuckled. “You’re smiling, Lexa.”

Okay. That was.. not supposed to happen. You’ve spent the past hour trying to make it sink that Clarke made you smile. Just this morning though. Just that one instant and you’re coming to terms with that. But it need not be seen by another person, not even Anya. Not when you don’t fully understand what you were feeling.

It was too easy to rely on Clarke as an escape. Had it not suddenly felt wrong to admit that you were only using each other to get by. 

You're interested, that much you're sure. And there's this desire that's more than just lust which you know you can't nourish. Because it’s dangerous if you let too much emotion color your relationship. You can’t fall for someone who wouldn’t catch you. You’d be more screwed than you already are.

“No, I wasn’t,” you fervently denied. The tone was cold, indicating that there should be no further discussion about the subject.

Quick to grasp the message, Anya went on with company matters. “We are below this quarter’s target but I’m on it.” she relayed, brushing the weirdness off of the place you were in. Her business reports were usually emailed, if not discussed over the phone or in person at your penthouse.

You nodded to signal you understood.

“But we need you back, Lex," your cousin's voice was hopeful. "Your presence matters to our people. You are the flagship of Polis.”

You swallowed and spoke softly. “I.. I’ll try harder.”

“Come to the office one of these days.” Anya picked her coat up and clutched her briefcase. “Stay in my room the whole day for all I care. You aren’t required to work at all, you just have to be there.”

You nodded vaguely.

Anya stood and stopped on her tracks as a thought seemed to have struck her. “Seriously, Lex, what’s wrong with your face?” she asked again before turning to leave.

 

* * *

 

You skipped latte that early morning and after meeting your mom, you arranged breakfast with your medical scientist friend.

“Oh, I’m gonna love this day.” Raven cheered as she spread cream cheese on her bagel. “Sinclair is on holiday, no boss at Research!”

“Yeah?” Your eyes darted across the street to the crowded Emergency Room where nurses and doctors alike rushed to and fro. “I wish mine would be as great.”

“But you’re already glowing,” Raven noticed.

God, why does she have to be this observant? You pretended to be busy, tilting your head down to hide the blush, and sprinkled a packet of brown sugar on your already sweet caramel latte. “What do you mean?”

“You look radiant,” Raven all but reworded before chewing silently on her bagel. “What else could it mean?”

“Are you hitting on me?”

“Are you high?”

Few heads turned as Raven practically yelled. The same heads shook in disgust as you both broke into crazy giggles.

“What’s so hilarious?” Cage Wallace emerged with ludicrous confidence, sucking the glee out of breakfast.

“Doctor Wallace,” Raven pulled a poker face. “I didn’t know you ever bother to grace a coffee shop with your presence.”

Wallace scoffed. Those brown stubbles can’t even hide his smug expression and instead just made it look dirty. “Doctor Griffin’s face is so distracting even from afar. I thought I’d buy her coffee.”

“I already have one,” you snarled and sipped on your cup to emphasize the point. “And it’s really sweet.”

Wallace’s gold watch shone as he gripped the backrest of a vacant seat at one edge of the square table. His complete brown suit perfectly pressed and elegant. “Dinner tonight then?”

“No.”

As usual, he wasn’t perturbed by the utter rejection. “I’m quite a catch and you know it, Clarke,” he persisted and winked like a psycho. It took all your will not to spit the latte out of your mouth as he leisurely walked away, leaving a trail of pungent perfume behind.

“You know,” Raven reflected when Wallace was out of earshot. “It’s really a challenge to reconcile that he is one of the best doctors in Arkadia.”

“Oh, tell me about it.” You rolled your eyes. It’s sickening how your mom speaks highly of him all the time. Then she grew irritatingly insistent after learning that you were finally single, and had since tried to talk you into a ‘friendly date with Cage.’

Abby Griffin had yet to succeed.

And it’s not as though she ever would. Cage is the last person you’d want to be alone with. Like, you’d rather agree on a date with Lexa if she asked..

Whoa there, where did that come from?

“Well,” Raven thankfully cut your musings as you tried to erase some green eyes that had still been inked on your eyelids. “He seems serious about his intentions, maybe you could give it a shot.”

Raven shrugged her shoulders when you shook your head vigorously. You disliked that people close to you were actually considering this, and you hated that you can’t argue a point that could somehow make them stop.

Except-

“I don’t think I can go out with anybody,” you snapped and Raven’s brows wrinkled. “I kind of.. have someone.”

You watched your friend intently, hoping she would grasp what you meant because it’s not like you could divulge the matter out loud. Besides, she had been responsible for this bed buddy shit.

Raven hesitated and leaned back on her chair. Then her eyes narrowed and soon flicked, “Oh my God!” She threw her body forward. “That’s still going on?”

Her gaze widened at you curiously and it made you realize only then that you weren’t ready for this conversation. And fuck how desperate were you to drop the topic in the first place.

You hastily stood and snatched your coat from where it was folded on a chair. “We should go.”

With the faces Raven sent you, bolting was your best shot at avoiding the barrage of questions ready to be thrown over that table.

“Jeez,” Raven was skeptical but had nonetheless rose and was pulling the zipper up the jacket she had just worn. “You have sixty _full_ minutes before your shift starts, Clarke.”

“I need to change into scrubs,” was the lame bullshit you came up with as you stalked ahead, Raven trailing close behind. “And have you seen the ER today? It’s not a bad idea to start early.”

Your friend clearly didn’t buy it and instead just sighed as you both exited the coffee shop in silence.

It was when you were crossing the road and you let her keep up that she spoke again. “I seriously assumed that was over.”

She continued to mumble as you stubbornly held your tongue. “I was surprised you went at all.” 

Raven had always been inquisitive about basically all things under the sun. And there are days, such as this, that you wished she'd just let it go. 

It's not that you don’t want to discuss the matter, it’s just, you aren't sure which information to disclose.What you had with Lexa in the past two days were notable encounters. They were private and fragile and you guessed Lexa wouldn’t appreciate them reaching someone else’s ears.

You share the sentiment, you wanted the memories to remain secluded no matter how brief and nonsensical they were. It was as though sharing the story would wear its value and for some reason, you wanted them to remain whole and real and untouched.

And again, this is Raven. If the interrogations went deeper, you would have no idea how to answer questions you yourself were still asking.

“Fine,” Raven tried again. “The first meeting may be unavoidable, and I was sure you barely endured that.”

You tried to force a neutral face when you very much wanted to smile at the accuracy of the words. That first night was so awkward and would’ve been trashed to a really dark alley had Lexa not rebounded with the best sex you’ve had for months.

“So,” Raven went on as the hospital loomed closer. “I never thought you guys would even set up a second or third or god knows how many more.”

The sound of cars were met by varied volumes of people talking. Your own voice was drowned with all the noise, but that was perhaps the reason you chose to answer. “Yeah,” you said softly and Raven didn’t hear it. “But we did.”

 

* * *

Monday

 

You were at the park again that morning.

The distance from your car to the bench was not far but significant for your foot to sting. You didn’t care. You didn’t mind if it healed slowly.

On one occasion, you heard a raspy voice, floating in the midst of rustling trees and screeching soles of people’s shoes. ‘Please,’ it said. 

Your heart jumped and in a split second, your head was in that direction. Only to find a middle-aged mom with short black hair, begging her son to stop playing with soil. You should’ve known, the way the word had been uttered wasn’t the same anyway. It’s just that the voice had been disturbing.

But you stayed in that bench and observed the woman until she left with her kid, though she never said the word again. 

You decided to head home when the sun started to scorch your skin. You had lunch with your company’s charts on your screen. The data isn’t alarming at all so you commended Anya via email and clipped your laptop.

The afternoon was spent wasting time at the living room. You thought of your father and your previous lover. You thought about Clarke and how she’d fit into your pointless life.

Nah, no one wants to be part of your boring and purposeless life.

Clarke may well just be another stop in a viciously battered road. A very pleasant one, of course. One that would be difficult to quit once you pursued to explore deeply. It doesn’t need much time to judge that she is more beautiful beneath that layer of porcelain skin. Her heart seems kind and her mind is bright behind those sad and charming eyes.

The day’s almost over when you finally decided to read the stream of messages your phone received since morning. You responded to only one, a text from Clarkewhich delighted you because she kept in touch while sober and on matters other than sex. Though it’s saddening that the message somehow reiterated reality.

And now two hours hence you still stare at the same screen, deciding on whether or not to let the dialogue flow.

 

Clarke  
  
**Today**  
I'd appreciate if you would ignore those nonsense I've texted the other night.  
17:17  
Don't worry about it.  
  
****17:32

 

    How are you? |

 

    How was your day? |

 

    How |

  


 

* * *

 

Thursday

 

You lounged lazily on your bed, your blonde hair still damp after a thorough bath. The past four days were all work. Even Raven’s hands had been so full that she never bothered to ask you about Lexa again. 

No more messages have been exchanged after your attempt to mitigate the humiliating effect of those drunk texts you’ve sent last weekend. Lexa replied once and that was it. Well, there'd been three dots in her bubble but it disappears every now and then. You've waited to receive whatever she's typing and it felt like two hours but nothing came until the dots faded permanently.

Not that you haven’t thought about reaching her again. You'd wanted to ask if her wound still hurts, or if her cold persisted and turned to a severe flu. And you kept telling yourself that you were curious of her health only because you're a doctor. You had that in mind despite the countless times you picked your phone up only to throw it back down because it's terrifying.

You can’t initiate another meeting because it’s wrong to let yourself be attached or allow someone to feel the same while you have some baggage.  

You miss her though. It had only been four days but you missed her. You miss the subway ride to her place. Her dark bedroom, the soft white duvets, her flushed skin and plump lips. Her face. You missed her face even though you’ve seen it just once. And you wondered how you could feel sad for not getting a real glimpse of the very image that was constantly plastered on your mind for days.

Your phone buzzed and your heart jumped a bit, anticipating her name to appear.

If she invited you over, you don’t need excuses. You could pretend that she’s fully responsible and you were merely fulfilling your side of the deal.

Could you be that selfish?

Regardless, it wasn’t her on the other line.

So you stared but didn’t rush to pick it up, you knew the call will persist anyway. And it did. You answered after the fourth missed call.

“Hai.”

“Evening, Princess. You’ve been busy?”

“Yes.”

“I miss you.”

“Hmmm.”

“Some riot broke here and the warden limited our phone calls. I’m happy to hear your voice again.”

“Hmmm.”

“Will you be visiting soon? I want to see you. I’ve been thinking-”

“Finn, we aren’t together.”

“I know. But I’d get out of here. I will and I’ll make everything up to you.”

“It’s not that easy. Just take care of yourself there, okay? I’m still your friend-”

“I will make it up to you, Princess. We’ll be happy, like before-”

The line was cut. It was probably another rampage or an officer threatening the inmates or anything that you don’t care about anymore.

You pressed your eyes shut for minutes before heading to the kitchen, forcing yourself to consume grilled cheese sandwich for dinner. You toyed with your phone and tapped the app you’ve been opening and closing the past hour. 

 

LEXA  
  
**Monday**  
I'd appreciate if you would ignore those nonsense I've texted the other night.  
****17:17 Don't worry about it.  
17:32

 

    Are you home? |

 

    Would you |

 

    Can I |

 

    |


	6. Chapter 6

Saturday

 

You managed.

You didn’t depend on sex to yank your attention away from this Finn situation.

Seven months its been, you’ve backtracked yesterday. It felt like weeks because it started slow and intermittent and irrelevant. But it had been seven fucking months. More than half a year of witlessly pressing the Commander12 button whenever calls with Finn turned out toxic. Or whenever you felt that maybe you should be locked up there instead.

“Are you okay?” Raven set her tray down and sat. You were at her favorite pastry shop near the south wing entrance. “You look off these past days.”

Your response was a mere shrug of shoulders.

“What? The friend-with-benefit thing fails to work anymore?”

Huh. That’s the thing. It worked too much that it’s starting to turn into a problem. You had so much fun that you’ve almost caved in to dependency. You wanted to take care of whatever you have, you got scared of the mess you’ll become in the event Lexa opted to let go.

And so hours ago, you decided to slowly detach from the connection. No more texting her. And for god’s sake, no more renouncing any more details about you. Your name had been more than enough. Yeah, that’s the plan.

If Lexa made the first move.. Well, you hadn’t resolved that thought yet. It had thankfully been a week of radio silence anyway, so the days that passed weren’t much of a challenge to tolerate.

But, like, doesn’t she even miss you or something? Surely she felt a spark last Sunday, when every inch of your body have been shoved to her face, all skin and sweat. You fucked. She fucked you and thereafter offered her name. That must mean something to her.. right?

Unless Lexa was just another of those useless fuckboys who lure someone in with tantalizing gestures like brewing coffee when you’re drunk and offering their place so you could rest until you sober up. And in the next morning, search your face as though you were the world then smile at you like you were the only reason they ever did in years.

Maybe you’ve read too much into her actions and you are most probably wrong?

“Finn called yet?” Raven dropped the question like a bomb, it almost made you gasp.

But you didn’t and only dragged your gaze away from the busy street to meet your friend’s guiltless eyes. “The other day,” you murmured. “And this morning.”

“How is he?”

You paused to think for a while. You spoke to Finn eight hours ago yet the memory seemed to have disappeared into the deepest chambers of your brain. “Not too bad.. I guess.”

Raven huffed. “What did he need the gun for again?”

“He‘d been wanting to buy one,” you snapped without missing a beat. You’ve been asked the question countless times since the moment everyone learned the cops abducted him. “I didn’t expect he’d settle for the one without permit though. One stupid decision in one stupid day that led to stupid, complicated and horrible lucks.”

“That bastard. I can’t believe he’ll endure a year in prison.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, returning your gaze at the thickening traffic outside. “That is if he walks out triumphant from that murder case he’d been charged with.”

“Right.” Raven sighed and went on with her dessert. “I forgot about that one.”

 

* * *

 

Your driver dropped you at the main entrance of Arkadia Medical Center. You hobbled slowly around and alone until you found Anya, who was otherwise easy to spot at the middle of a hectic Emergency Room.

Two nurses flanked her, tending to her bruises and cleaning the blood flowing from a brutal cut on her jaw. Her left hand was connected to an intravenous bag and her right arm rested on a sling.

You were just finishing dinner when the call came, having been the emergency contact of Anya Woods, who apparently met an accident like minutes ago. So you pulled some dark jeans up your leg, snatched one of your plain button downs, hopped on your softest pair of boots and went.

Whose fault the accident was, who were involved, you don’t know yet, but hoped that whatever happened, you could avoid any lawsuit headache. The past two trials you’ve initiated ended up empty. They weren’t only a waste of effort, they were also heartbreakingly unjust.

Anya frowned and stared at you blankly as you drew closer.

“Was it them?” you asked suspiciously like you’re speaking to a perfectly healthy subordinate. Worry expertly shielded on a well practiced deadpan face.

Anya only returned a decent shook of head, having to perhaps feel tremendous pain at the slightest twist of any part of her body.

“Are you sure?”

She shot you a glare as the nurse pressed her gently down the hospital bed.

“Any physician assigned to attend to her?” You raised a brow, impatient and unsatisfied with the care being rendered to your cousin, before an announcement echoed from the ceiling.

_Doctor C. Griffin, to the ER please_

The nurse looked up and pointed to the speakers above. “On the way.”

 

* * *

 

South was the farthest wing and you felt like you’ve been walking for ages.

You loved emergencies. You live for the gush of adrenaline while working on fatal cases. Urgent plus lethal, such solid combination to bank into as you advance further in your career.

Though you hate the hopeless cases, of course. You hated being short of solutions to save a severe case. Also, you loathed those agitated relatives who overreact. Their anxiety made you feel you weren’t good enough to rescue their loved ones.

_Doctor C. Griffin, ER please_

Hell. That was the second prompt in ten minutes.

With the ER just paces away, you re-checked the notice on your pager : Stall B24 - Car accident, woman, 25-30yo.

In another minute, you reached the designated bed and quickly assessed the situation.

The nurses obviously applied first aid. Nice.

The patient seemed to have incurred gruesome damages but nonetheless far from a life-threatening injury. Good.

The patient’s emergency contact was calmly standing on the side, showing no signs of senseless panic. And holy shit. What the hell did you just walk into?

 

* * *

 

It’s Clarke. It’s definitely her.

A neat white robe emphasized her sky blue eyes, the same ones that stare at you, equally shocked. Your feet went numb but Clarke quickly cleared her throat, blinked and walked towards Anya wearing that endearing smile of hers.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Griffin. I’m an emergency resident,” she unrestrictedly introduced herself. “I’m going to perform basic assessments, and thereafter close that long wound on your jaw,” she went on while you appreciate being helplessly paralyzed because you may have crossed that bed and kissed her right there otherwise.

Anya only nodded as Clarke swerved a flashlight to her eyes then asked questions while tapping the stethoscope to Anya’s body. You didn’t take your eyes off of her. You can’t had you tried. Sometimes you study her face, then your stare fall on her hands’ delicate flicks, then you lift your eyes back to her pink cheeks until she finished suturing Anya’s open cut.

You watched her tap boxes on an iPad, punched her thumb print on the screen and advised instructions to the nurse. And you almost combusted when she suddenly turned to you.

“Her fractures will be attended to,” she announced very confidently. “For now, I can’t see any lethal damage, but I can’t declare for certain until all her tests are released. Her specialist will be Dr. Jackson. He will furnish a complete diagnosis.”

You managed a half-witted nod and hoped that even at her battered state, Anya registered all that was said because you didn’t.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s face was as plain as liquid morphine.

You’ve finished the tasks well given that you‘ve done those a thousand times. God help Anya Woods had you been amateur because all your nerves were shaking with Lexa closely paying attention to all your movements.

Anya looked about to speak when a tall, brawny man plunged into the space. He was another relative called Lincoln, you later learned.

Lexa all but moved her eye when the man expressed a torrent of worries on Anya’s bed. Until he noticed Lexa and he timidly marched to her, called her ‘Commander’ before diplomatically shaking her hand.

And of course her code name had some truth in it! Unlike some who plucked theirs from a thesaurus, being the best-sounding synonym of a president or a leader.

“Lex,” Anya finally liberated her words weakly. “I need your help to settle my insurance. There’d been hiccups earlier.”

Lexa’s reaction remained plain but her eyes darted over to you as if in question.

“I’ll show you the office,” you comprehendingly volunteered, earning bewildered looks from all surrounding people.

Soon, the hospital bed was rolled out of the stall leaving the space bare and quiet and still. Minus all obstructions, Lexa’s physique was clear. She stood meters before you with utmost poise, her shoulders squared and proud. Your gazes held until her face rearranged into the gentle appearance you were familiar with, punctuated with a well sported smirk.

“So, you’re a doctor,” she sneered as though trying to wrap her mind around the matter that she had guessed all along.

“Trying to be,” you mumbled advancing forward, burying both hands into your medical robe’s pockets because you weren’t sure what to do with them.

Lexa chuckled and you rolled your eyes exaggeratedly, feeling petulant. And when you spoke, you played brat.

“Stop teasing..” you squealed, digging your nails into your robe’s fabric, wishing it was Lexa’s shirt. “I hate this..”

Lexa pressed her lips together, almost smiling. “I’m sorry I had to find out this way,” she whispered, sincere green eyes searched yours in apology. “Sorry I even had to find out.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled in assurance. “I’m just calling you out for teasing.”

You were apparently still advancing though, almost crashing into Lexa’s personal space, which would’ve been avoidable if she wasn’t stationary and acted like she didn’t mind the close proximity at all.

She was so close, your heartbeat raced. You wondered how this can still feel so right after schooling yourself not to lower any more of whatever walls you have left.

But your eyes landed on her plump, rosy lips. And it was absurd how much you crave it at that point. In a fucking emergency room whereas you have been lapping on it for more than half a year in the most private of places.

And you really should stop leaning your head forward because you’re about to violate a couple of work ethic clauses. Maybe you could just seize her wrist and drag her to the locker room?

“Clarke.” A familiar voice called from a distance, preventing the sordid act threatening to transpire.

Lexa’s jaw was clenched when you stepped back. You debated if she was upset or merely restraining a smile before regrettably breaking the gaze and turned sideways. “Mom?”

But really, how many more of your layers could be peeled off in a single night?

“Honey,” your mom continued her graceful walk, white robe flowing smoothly until she was practically at your face. “You were paged, I took my chances. And oh,” she twisted her head to where Lexa stood, jaw still hard but her cheeks had turned light pink. “What’s going on here?”

“Mom, uhm...” you pointed at Lexa but your brain was empty of words so you shamefully just shook your head. “Never mind. Why are your here?”

Your mom’s attention hadn’t left Lexa and soon took the liberty to strike an introduction. “Hello. Are you friends with Clarke? I’m her mom,” she held out a hand. “Abby Griffin.”

Lexa returned a gentle handshake and met your mom’s smile with her own reserved but genuine one. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Griffin,” she said like she’d done this a million times. “It puzzled me how Clarke could be this alluring. I’m certain I just found out why. My name is Lexa.” She finished with outstanding eloquence that left your ears ablaze and your jaw reeling on the floor.

Because what the fuck, alluring?

“Lexa,” your mother repeated aloud, her smile so wide it showcased all her wrinkles. “What a pretty name. So,” she passed a glance between the two of you. “How did you guys know each other-“

“Mom,” you needfully interrupted, took your mom by the shoulder and led her aside but her wayward feet only allowed you as far as two feet away. “Mom, why are you here?”

“Honey, can I take your car?”

“What? Why?”

“Surgery at Camp Jaha. Urgent. Critical.” She shoved her pager to your nose to prove her claim. “Marcus can’t give me a lift.”

“How long will your car be at the shop? I told you to buy a second one-- never mind. I’ll get the keys. Meet you at the lounge in ten?”

“Can we do it in five?”

“Ten.”

“Fine. Thanks, baby.” She kissed your forehead and rubbed your unquestionably red cheeks. And you seriously do not want to meet her eyes right now.

“See you, Lexa,” she called and was gone.

 

* * *

 

Your car glided slowly between the white boundaries of the privileged parking Clarke asked you to utilize.

It had not been easy to convince her of you driving her home. A simple offer : give her a ride, and not in any way pry further on where she resides.

But she insisted that one, the subway was equally convenient; two, you shouldn’t be driving with your foot unwell; and three, that Anya needs you. After informing her of your driver and due to Lincoln’s convenient presence, all her arguments were invalidated altogether.

The area you were at was peaceful. One that rid your mind of haze and all that floats around it was Clarke. And it was just overwhelming to find yourself sitting alone in your car, in front of an ornate hospital lobby, at nine thirty in the evening, waiting for her.

Fifteen minutes hence, she emerged from the massive glass doors, looking lovely in a dress. Her blonde hair was swept by the night breeze as she walked directly to the parking spot she knew you occupied. She peeped at the window to check if it was indeed you behind the wheel, before clutching the passenger door.

“You told me you had a driver,” she recalled accusingly, pulling the door shut. “This car is 2-seater.”

“I said I did.” You knew she’ll bring this up even before sending your bemused driver away. “It was an emergency and we used this car because it’s the fastest I have.” You avoided her scowls. “But I didn’t say he’d drive us to your home.”

Clarke turned, her glare burning your cheeks. Then she paused before pushing herself back heavily against the leathers and you heard a seatbelt click. “Let’s go.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“If I am, I would’ve slid out of here and slammed this sleek door,” she pointed out. “Let’s go, it’s getting late.”

 

= * = * = * = * = 

 

“There’s cinnamon, almond, chamomile, ginger, caramel-“

Clarke tapped a forefinger to her chin while she brushed through her options.

The trip to her neighborhood took twenty minutes that felt like five, spent with her offering opinions about the day’s news, pointing at places she liked the ambiance or something of, and mostly her reminding you to slow down.

You stopped by the fountain in front of her tower’s lobby, trying to withstand the awkward silence as you consider on whether to give her a side hug, a kiss or bid her goodnight, when she beat you into breaking the ice. ‘Would you like to go up for tea?’ she asked.

You agreed, of course, saying ‘Tea would be nice,’ after five beats in an attempt to obscure your mortifying eagerness. Truth is, you don’t offer to drive anyone to anywhere. You only did so tonight so you could spend more time with Clarke.

Her pad was mostly glass walls surrounding a wide singular floor, with only a low, three step staircase up the kitchen and dining area. Her furniture are either pale brown or white over smooth granite floor and oriental carpets.

“Which do you prefer, Lexa?” Clarke cried from the counters she leaned against.

“Cinnamon, I guess.” You swiveled the bar stool sideways so you face her directly. “Ah, on second thought.” Clarke raised her brows questioningly. “Why don’t you go clean yourself? And I’ll make us tea?”

“Someone’s scared she’ll acquire hospital virus again?”

You smirked. “Are we getting cozy?”

Clarke’s response was a chaffed snicker. “Kay,” she agreed after some thought. “The kitchen is yours, Lexa. The entire house, actually. I permit you to touch anything besides more of my personal life.”

You chuckled, hopping off your seat. “Yes, mem.”

Clarke halted adjacent to where you stood, seemingly considering to give you a peck on the cheek or squeeze your hand. But soon went on without another glance.

She’d descended down and had almost reached the corridor leading to the rooms when you noticed a faint sound of vibration. It was Clarke’s phone, left idle on the marble counter.

“Clarke,” you called, voice raised to reach the opposing end of the broad space.

“Yes?”

“Someone’s calling.”

Clarke stopped on her tracks and looked over her shoulder. “Is it my mom?” she yelled innocently.

“Nope. It’s uh-,” you hopped sideways to peep at the blinking screen. “It’s an unsaved number. Not mobile, it’s like a landline phone or something.”

Clarke turned and checked her watch. “Ignore it. Add my phone to the list of things you can’t touch,” she ordered loudly before disappearing into the corridor.

You explored the kitchen and went about pressing switches on while choosing the tea flavor you guessed Clarke would prefer.

On the counter nearby, you kept staring at her phone which continued to vibrate even after the considerable length of time Clarke had gone.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Sunday-ish

 

You emerged after a soothing bath wearing a thin and plain asymmetrical dress. One sleeve fell down your left shoulder and its hem covered just a quarter of your thigh.

The penthouse smelled of peppermint and Lexa seemed to have touched a lot of items.

She had her back to you, the bright moonlight tracing her thick brown hair. Lexa sat on layers of blankets she'd spread beside the glass wall of the living room. There were cushions around and she’d conveniently pulled the coffee table to the side.

All lights were off, save for a set of candles neatly lit beside the tea set.

You sauntered forward, bedroom slippers shuffling silently. “What are you gazing at?”

“The park,” Lexa answered without turning. “People jog at this hour?”

“Well," you collected two steaming cups and handed one over before lowering yourself to her side. The little improvised floor bed beneath your legs was surprisingly soft. "Most people have healthy limbs.”

Lexa finished her serving, set the small cup back on the table and faced you. “I didn’t expect you’d invite me up here,” she admitted calmly, her green eyes glimmered with wonder and gratitude. It was strange how accustomed you've become of each other. And despite those you still hide beneath those skins, merely sitting beside her like this was still the most peaceful you've felt in a while.

“You’ve coincidentally discovered my profession, and with that my workplace,” you recounted, meeting her stare after she’d dragged it up your bare shoulder. You half smiled to assure her it was okay. “I agreed you could drive me here. And you’ve met my mom.. so..”

Lexa grabbed the cup you were absently playing in your hands and discarded it on the table. You didn’t gasp when she claimed your lips in a gentle but wet kiss. You kind of expected that. You sort of wanted that.

It’s unbelievable how relieving it felt to kiss her again after days.

After just six days, for God’s sake Clarke.

Lexa scooped your hip and you straddled her waist when she half-carried you towards her.

“Do you think,” she mumbled as you pushed brown waves away from the side of her face. “Do you think we could be seen from outside?”

“Maybe.” Lexa released your mouth so that her soft lips can descend to your neck and thereafter press light kisses on your exposed shoulder, smirking when you stifle soft moans. There will surely be red marks around your collarbone by morning as her tongue began to suck intensely.

Your fingers mechanically flew to the top button of her shirt, unfastening each hook down to the last. “Maybe not.”

You've gotten rid of Lexa's jeans by the time she found the courage to lift your dress up and threw it to the side along with your bra.

It had been a thrilling couple of minutes, and you wanted to remember every second of this odd but wonderful scenario of the first time you ever needed to undress each other.

“Hold on.” You gingerly stood, regretting at once the distance you had to place between you. Even just for a while. She seemed at a loss too, but smirked perceptively when you pressed a switch that spread translucent blinds across the glass wall.

Lexa had nothing on by the time your feet found the blankets. Candle light danced at the edges of her face and your eyes can’t seem to focus anywhere else. She was fucking gorgeous, you wondered how many more times your mind needs to point that out before it gets tired.

And you can't help the smile that pulled your lips apart. “Hey.”

It may have been the reflections or whatever peculiar lighting there was but for a moment there, you thought she smiled too.

“Hey,” she returned, holding your eyes while her fingers laced beneath the waistband of your panties.

Lexa’s expressive eyes hooked yours and all you can do was lean forward and welcome her tongue into your mouth as your underwear slid under her hands. She claimed your hip before you shamelessly straddled her thigh leaving her skin colliding with the heat of your soaked and longing center.

“Closer,” you ordered, pulling Lexa by her free leg until her wetness met your own thigh. Her grip was tender and possessive, guiding your body carefully as you began to grind. As you rolled towards your need, your arousal rose, fingers tightening around Lexa’s jaw with every helpless moan.

And if people told you this morning that you’d spend the night at your penthouse, on your living room floor, with your thigh digging into Lexa’s damp crotch, you wouldn’t have believed them.

“Fuck,” Lexa gasped, feeling her own pleasure escalate with every powerful contact. She was sweating excessively in your arms. “Fuck Clarke.”

How the hell did she just say your name? Your brain had to pause to fully grasp how incredibly it was pronounced. Every letter sounded distinct with the k’s claiming the sexiest ring. And you weren't sure if the churning at your belly was because of the escalating arousal dripping inches below, or because of your thoughts about Lexa who’s wrapping you with tricks she didn’t know were up her sleeves.

“I’m gonna come.” Lexa’s voice shook as she rocked her pelvis faster, slightly leaning backwards to throw her arms on the floor to support both your weights. And you only kissed her more aggressively, panting into her mouth while the increased friction underneath left your clit grow more sensitive by the second.

Lexa's composed whimper came as her orgasm pooled, hot and thick as it flowed through the edges of your leg, and your own release trickled down her flushed skin heartbeats after.

Lexa greedily inhaled some air before throwing her body forward to kiss you languidly again.

“Are you all right?” Your speech cracked in between pants, brushing waves of damp hair from Lexa’s forehead. “I dare say I’m heavy and we’re practically on a hard floor.”

Lexa only smirked when she pulled her mouth away to obtain an ample view of your face. “You weigh reasonably to me, Dr. C. Griffin,” she mocked. A teasing mimic of the hospital announcer, and you badly wanted to call her out again but all you could do was grin. Lexa had so far only treated you with kindness and spat affectionate words. It was as though she’s unconsciously laying traps to make you fall, and you had to wonder why you were still standing.

“Shall I go get cold water?” she suggested after the silence created by your stupid musings.

“I’ll do it,” you proposed conversely. Then you kissed her and stood, hating that you have to move that far yet again.

 

* * *

 

Clarke was at the last step up her kitchen by the time you kept up. You didn’t know why you followed her. Perhaps you loathed every wasted second that wasn’t spent looking at her. Or perhaps you missed the tiniest part of her body against yours and you can’t wait that long to hold her again.

“Looks like someone’s really thirsty,” she commented as your feet thumped on the stairs.

“Yeah, I guess that’s accurate.”

Clarke extracted one tall glass from the cupboard. She seemed to consider taking another but almost immediately pushed the drawer back in place. Her body was in full display. Her ass was perfect and her breasts were tempting, but at that point, it had been at her face that your eyes were pinned to. She was beautiful.

You watched as she walked over to the fridge and stopped when she noticed her dead phone still sitting on the marble counter. Her brows creased as though she forgot all about the gadget, like she was confused how it got there in the first place. Clarke pouted then proceeded to collect water.

She’d fill the glass almost to the brim and advanced to where you were standing behind the high table. “You’re thirsty,” she offered but you refused and asked her to go ahead instead.

Clarke obeyed, only handing the glass over when she moved around to perch on the bar stool beside you.

“That thing was buzzing non-stop until the battery emptied.”

There was only silence while you finished the remaining contents of the glass. “It could be an emergency.”

“No it’s not.”

Clarke gasped when you moved towards her and settled yourself between her knees, your hands landing on each of her porcelain thighs. “Are you sure?”

Clarke shook her head, not to disagree but in a way that says she refused to talk about the subject. Her pleading eyes sucked you in and you hated how much they weaken you.

“Today had been too much,” she mumbled apologetically as you appreciate the soft hands that skated up your cheeks.

You noded, realizing that there are only too many walls that could collapse in one night. “I understand, Clarke.”

She smiled. What had earlier been a set of resigned eyes had suddenly lit up. “Can you say that again?”

“Hm? Which one?”

Your confusion only widened Clarke’s grin. “Never mind,” she said. “Come here.” She pulled you to her lips and urged you further in until your abs brushed the still substantial wetness between her legs. In turn, you scooped her thighs to lift them higher. Clarke moaned into your mouth and thereafter locked her legs around your hip and kissed deeper.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s fingers circled your folds, teasing the hell out of you. “Lexa..” you breathed. It was a plea because she seemed to be waiting for an unnecessary consent you’ve so long ago given. “Inside. I need you inside me.”

She took a deep breath and -

“Ahh.. Lex,” you whimpered aloud when long, familiar fingers tore through your entrance, feeding and relieving your aching center.

Sex with Lexa was a luscious mix of pleasure and comfort. It wasn’t as explicit as you initially expected. There were no obscene toys waiting for you at her nightstand drawer. Not that you resented or preferred those. It’s just that you haven’t tried them before, though you were open to the experience if it were with Lexa. But, it had been a sweet couple of vanilla months, with her being an overly satisfactory partner. She, and whatever you’ve shared in bed together were enough. In fact, if there was anything you wanted more from her at this point, it wasn’t anything sexual. And that’s the tricky part because you were certain she was enough. Lexa was enough but you can’t seem to get enough of her.

A louder moan escaped your mouth as Lexa plunged deeper and you needfully gripped her sturdy shoulders. The bar stool was small and unsteady amidst aggressive quivers, but Lexa’s free hand held you in place. Her thrusts strengthened the way you needed them and soon, a violent ‘Fuuuck’ echoed throughout your penthouse while your sweaty and cum-smeared butt banged against the leather cushion until Lexa slowed and finally pulled out.

“Fuck, Lexa,” was all you managed, too overwhelmed to say anything else while you rested between her breasts.

And after a while, she slightly stepped backwards, reached each of your parted legs and brought them together. “Just sit still,” she ordered, handing you some paper towels and went to fetch water.

“My mom bought this bar set.” You snorted as you wiped your fluids from the leathers. “We built this place together five years ago.”

“Good to know. Shall I schedule the delivery of new stools by Monday?” Lexa quipped, placing the glass on your hands. “I’m not risking a bad blood with Dr. Abby Griffin.”

“Ha ha. I doubt she’ll even notice. Oh by the way-,” an entirely different subject occurred to you. “Anya will be okay. I saw the crucial results before leaving.”

Lexa nodded lowly. She didn’t smile but there was a spark of delight in her eyes. “I knew she would. Anya is strong. She’s stronger than me.”

“I’m not sure I know enough to agree with the part where you said she’s stronger.”

“You should. That’s the truth.”

“Hey,” you placed the empty glass on the table, pulling Lexa by the wrist. She froze, brows twitched at the unexpected contact you've wrapped near hear hand, and you waited for her gaze to flit back to yours. “Why would you say that?”

Lexa gulped, her eyes were fixed at you but clearly itched to wander elsewhere. “Lexa?”

“I’m broken, Clarke,” she bluntly stated as though it was a fact.

Your heart sank but you can’t understand why. And you hated yourself for even considering to detach from the connection when Lexa sounded to have suffered worse shit than you.

“My father was killed,” Lexa resumed, her voice weak and tired. “It was staged to appear as an accident but I know his adversaries were behind it. His company was passed to me and I tried to run it the way I was trained to. But apparently, you can’t be too prepared when..”

“It’s all right, I’m listening.”

“When they smack you again while you’re still trying to get up,” she paused, swallowed thickly and this time, dropped her eyes on purpose. “They killed my girlfriend too.”

Okay.

Okay. This is getting deeper and you weren't sure you wanted it to go on. No, you valued that Lexa trusts you enough to confess what she just did. It was the girlfriend part that hit you like a slap in the gut. Because of course Lexa had a girlfriend. Girlfriends even. She’s easily the most captivating person you’ve ever met. It isn’t a wonder that she’d undergone relationship commitments in the past.

“I’m sorry,” you managed. Because that was what you’re supposed to say at the revelation of someone’s death. And you pushed your ponderings aside because Lexa’s shoulders had suddenly slumped and you realized that witnessing her misery affected you more than your pointless jealousy over her non-existent former lover.

Lexa was most probably running away from all these, and it made her seek for a bed partner with no strings attached. Huh. No strings attached.

“But,” you gently cupped her chin, forcing her to look back at you. Because you felt the pain in her eyes even though she chose to leave it unsaid. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”

Lexa’s brows knitted like she was mentally questioning your statement. But her face relaxed soon though it only rearranged to a sad expression. “You can’t always be there for me, Clarke.”

You pulled her closer, snaked your arms around her hip and allowed your cheek to press at her chest, listening to the steady beats of her heart. “I’m here now,” you assured her, breath catching because your eyes sting as tears began to cloud your vision. Lexa’s story hit you in an absurd magnitude and you can’t tell if that was right or wrong. But moreover, what she said was true. There’s Finn in the background, with whom you felt you owed a lot to despite not being together. A drop of tear tricked down your cheek because you didn’t know what to do. And you wiped it immediately, worried Lexa would notice. 

Minutes of silence passed while Lexa brushed your hair soothingly. And when you raised your head, her green eyes watched you with interest. “And I demand you stay the night!” You tried but failed to sound demanding as you tried to brush the negative thoughts away and forced yourself to just focus in the present. “So technically, I’ll still be here tomorrow,” you finished softly.

Lexa tucked some loose blonde strands behind your ear as she fixed you with a grateful gaze. She chuckled after a few moments, her face softened. “If I agree to stay, then it better be a long night,” she smirked and inclined forward to capture your lips.

 

* = * = * = * = *

 

Sunday

 

It was a long night.

Lexa carried you away from the bar, too worried to leave more traces of fornication there. You both nearly stumbled down the stairs because you refused to stop kissing her neck while clinging to its crook. Your lips distracted her and she had to remind that you aren’t necessarily as light as a baby despite weighing reasonably.

Lexa gradually laid you on the couch after that, sitting at the middle so that your legs are on her thighs. There were lots of kissing amidst long talks about current events and medical topics related to Anya’s condition and you remembered going down on Lexa twice in between those.

At about an hour past midnight, you dragged her to the blankets. She revealed that the bottom layer of her little bed consist of your yoga mats and the middle was a comforter she snatched from those freshly folded laundries. The blankets were from that room too.

A flicking tongue was responsible for your final climax and your last memory before falling asleep was pulling out of Lexa’s dripping core and kissing her delicately while you both panted, spent and exhausted.

“Doctor Griffin,” came the second call from the foyer and your eyes flitted open.

Lexa lay on her stomach, breathing evenly beside you. Her tousled brown waves covered most of her face. The hands of her tattooed arm rested an inch away from your belly, as though it had previously been at your waist but fell when you both moved while asleep.

Looking at her like this made you feel bizarre positive things. It felt like floating on steady ocean waters and you may have just learned what tranquility means. It felt like nothing could go wrong if this very sight greets you the moment you open your eyes in the morning. It felt like everything you needed to live was right before your eyes.

You need not a fancy bed nor the most private space, because waking up next to Lexa made you feel lavishly wrapped with solace and safety. And you wondered how she felt every time she opens her eyes at her bedroom and discover that you’ve already left.

“Doctor Griffin,” called the familiar voice of the doorman again.

“Just a sec,” you cried back, balancing the volume so as not to disturb Lexa’s sleep.

You grunted as you pushed yourself up, unable to find your dress amongst the heap of cushions. Only Lexa’s shirt, clumsily stashed under the coffee table was visible. You reached for it, threw it on, and stood while fastening the very buttons you undid last night. And you had to curse at each step you take towards the foyer because every inch of your body was sore. Even your lips had still been swollen.

“What’s so urgent?” you asked the agitated doorman, standing respectfully by the threshold.

“Doctor Griffin, thank God. Your friend’s car is being towed.”

“What?”

“She parked at the street side last night, and that’s only allowed until 5am.”

“Okay, I’ll wake her up, we’ll park elsewhere-”

“I think it’s too late for that. The truck will probably be leaving by the time you make it to the lobby.”

You apologized, thanked the doorman for the trouble and sprinted to where Lexa was still in a peaceful slumber.

 

* * *

 

Monday

 

Your lawyer had all documents prepared to retrieve the Audi. What you anticipated as an easy Sunday morning turned out tensed as you watched your favorite car being hooked and levered up a tow truck.

But you didn’t lapse into a rage frenzy like you typically would in such circumstances, because beside you, Clarke had been a bursting blend of fury and remorse.

‘I’m so sorry. I should’ve realized when I asked you to spend the night,’ she repeated for what seemed like a million times. And it was endearing and exhausting at the same time to respond with ‘It’s okay,’ to each of those million times.

How can a car matter after a magnificent night of making love to the person who makes your world stop? How can’t you calm down when you spent the ride home sniffing your shirt like a fool because her scent got stuck to its fabric?

The morning coffee sizzled while you mentally reviewed the tasks to accomplish for the day, eyes landing on a briefcase atop the chair where your own thick coat was thrown. You felt nothing. It definitely wasn't thrilling to walk into that office again, but you weren’t frightened either.

The phone you've recently charged finally opened and you scrolled through the messages.

 

Clarke  
  
**Today**  
Are you up?  
06:26  
  
Hey. Are you up? You should be. By now you should be having breakfast.  
06:40  
  
Don't worry too much. I know that you can do it.   
06:55  
  
Lexa?   
07:05  


 Shit. 

You rapidly typed a response just when careful thuds of boots echoed from behind.

“You didn’t respond to my texts,” a voice hoarsely judged.

You didn’t turn and had to bite the insides of your cheek because no one bluntly enters your house without advise and especially not before you’ve granted them permission.

But of course Clarke would violate all that.

And of course, you’ll let her.

You sipped the black coffee until Clarke made it to the seat beside you. Her face was fresh and pretty despite just wearing a simple leather jacket over a plain grey shirt. Her lips were pink and it took so much control not to lean forward and kiss them. Her blue eyes were calm but two brows were raised questionably.

“I just opened it. Been speaking to Anya for four straight hours last night. She had a novel of endorsements about office stuff. Phone died in my sleep.”

“Four hours on the phone? That’s not advisable while she recovers.”

You guiltily dragged your gaze away and pointlessly toyed with the coffee cup. “Your shift starts at two. Why are you up so early?"

Clarke sighed. “Because there’s somewhere I need to go,” she replied sounding unhappy. She reached for your arm and your eyes flit back to concerned ocean blue ones. “But since someone’s not reading my texts, I needed to take a detour and personally remind her that she’s strong.”

You smirked. No, you smiled. Clarke’s words and presence sparked a blissful feeling inside and it certainly deserved more than a smirk. “I’m not that weak, you know.”

Clarke grinned before nodding lowly, her fingers absently stroking the silk surface of your shirt. “I know.”

“Thank you for being here,” you sincerely whispered, composed amidst the rush of warmth across your chest. “Don’t let me get used to it.”

Clarke only smiled. Then you proceeded to finish the coffee, lifting the cup laboriously using the other hand which Clarke did not hold.

“Come on,” you stood moments later picking up the briefcase and coat. Clarke rose too and you strode towards the foyer together. 

“I’ll drop you off. This time I really do have a driver.”

Clarke snorted and almost immediately, the light in her eyes vanished. “The place isn’t exactly around town. And I brought my car, Lexa.”

“Oh. Right. Where’d you park? I’ll walk you there then.”

“You’re gonna be late!” She exclaimed as you allowed her to enter the elevator first.

“Let them wait.”

“No, that’s not a good impression!” Clarke protested, grabbing the button placket of your shirt. Her fist was at your abdomen with grip so tight the silk cloth got crumpled. “You have to show them that you’re eager. That you can do it,” she insisted.

Clarke’s face was very close, you could feel her breath on your chin. Her smell was fresh, like a garden full of fragrant flowers. Your heart heavily pounded. Its rate only slowed when soft, reassuring lips pressed against yours. And slowly, your eyes fluttered close.

It’s funny how strange this feels. This thudding in your chest whenever she steps closer. Kissing her before was a prelude to sex, but this right here and that other instance at the hospital weren’t.

Though, if you were honest, those you’ve shared the other night weren’t either. At least not for you. You kissed Clarke the entire Saturday night because you wanted to. Because you can’t contain how happy it felt to be welcomed at her house and you have no idea how to express it.

Clarke pulled back gently, her tight grip on your shirt made it impossible to step farther than a millimeter. “And don’t you ever again say that you’re broken,” she softly challenged. And you may have been so lost in the sparkle of her eyes or so drunk in the dazzling moment that you can’t remember why you were broken in the first place. Or what on earth broke you.

“Commander,” the driver called just as the elevator doors parted but it didn’t snap you out of the daze. You remained focused on Clarke’s eyes which were demanding and hopeful and a bit sad while your green ones were just full of longing.

It was only when Clarke shifted her gaze in favor of the waiting driver that your stares were broken.

“I’ll be over in five.” The words escaped coldly through gritted teeth. You placed the stuff in his hands and staggered out of the lift. His eyes were wide and fixed at Clarke who confidently fitted herself at your side.

He remained frozen. Bewildered at how a woman he saw for the first time could hold and stand this close to you, until Clarke led you towards the main door and out to where her car was.

You wanted to ask where she was going but was scared she might run away if you pried. The last thing you want is to be viewed nosy. So you bit your tongue even though you were dying to know.

“But, will you be working today? Will you be back in time for your shift?” You asked instead.

Clarke hummed her affirmation as you opened the car door for her. She grinned faintly in gratitude.

“I’ll visit Anya in the evening. Will I see you?”

Clarke’s grin pulled wider. “Do you want to?"

“Please?”

“I’ll swing by her room around seven,” she assured and eased herself in her car. “See you?”

You sighed and your insides seemed to reject the thought of being away from her. But Clarke's face turned serious and she seemed to be off to somewhere important.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you,” you relented before half-heartedly pushing the door closed.

Clarke managed a soft smile that didn’t reach her eyes before her tires screeched off the pavement.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey fellas, while reading this chapter, please note that I have no first hand experience on prison/ jail environment. I‘m also not a lawyer so please pardon the legal loopholes. xx

The meeting room was cold and clean. It was quiet within its concrete walls and the metal table at the center reflected the weak ceiling lights.

Pacing at the sidelines was attorney Charles Pike who had just drained his coffee cup. Yours was almost empty too and only the third - Finn’s - was untouched. If he wasn’t locked up and didn’t miss an expensive brew, he wouldn’t bother drinking that. It’s cold. Not to mention, it’s past lunch time.

The original plan was for you to observe the proceedings at 9:30. But it was unfortunately rescheduled to an hour earlier and all you saw upon arrival was an almost empty courtroom, with the five remaining people packing up folders, ready to leave. You only caught a glimpse of Finn’s back, in royal blue prison coveralls, being escorted into an exclusive exit.

Finn was serving time over an unlicensed pistol. But today’s trial was for another case - the murder of John Murphy, whom Finn had allegedly shot dead that same night he was caught with the firearm.

Pike showed up while you stood at the middle of the vacated courtroom. He held you by the elbow and filled you in with fuzzy updates regarding the lawsuit while he led you out of the building. He said that as you speak, Finn is transported to a jail where he’ll temporarily stay until the verdict. And that is where you both should head after a filling meal.

“What’s taking them so long?” you asked impatiently.

“He’s being admitted to a new facility. There will be checks,” Pike explained, both hands buried in his pockets as he hovered his meticulous eyes around the room. On occasion, he’ll touch the walls and feel for foreign objects, like he’s making sure there weren’t any hidden visual or voice recorders.

“Is there somewhere you need to go?” his baritone voice queried curiously.

You replied ‘No’ with a faint shake of head. “I’m taking the day off. Called my chief before surrendering my phone at the gates.”

The door clanked open and your chair shrieked as you pushed it back to stand. A brusque police officer ushered Finn in.

Finn’s intense eyes were glued at you. His smile was up ‘til his ears even while his hands were shackled to a steel bar on top of the table. He wore orange now. The coveralls were baggy around his skinny form, having lost so much weight since incarceration.

The officer left the room only to stand guard at the doorway.

Pike strode forward once the door was closed. “Collins,” he patted Finn twice on the back.

Without much thought, you went over to offer a polite hug which made Finn break down to tears at your shoulders. “You’re here,” he choked and struggled to catch his breath. “I missed you so much, Princess.”

You allowed the contact to linger but then he smelled your hair and you slowly detached, thankful that his hands were cuffed and couldn’t object. “Don’t call me that,” you muttered flatly as you returned to sit beside Pike.

The lawyer paid no attention to the theatrics, too busy deciding which documents to extract from his attache case. “We have work to do. We’re lucky to have been allowed ample time to regroup,” he croaked sarcastically. “You‘re pretty much buried here, Mr. Collins.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him!” Finn protested, cuffs rattled as he slumped noisily on his seat. “I aimed for his shoulder.”

“But you hit his heart,” Pike countered, forehead wrinkled under his shiny bald head. “Only your prints were found in the murder weapon and the pistol was discovered in your car when the police arrived.”

“It was self-defense!” Finn ardently insisted. “He would’ve killed me with that knife otherwise.”

“The problem, Finn, is that Mr. Murphy’s comrades cleaned that mess for him. The only person claiming that there was a knife is you.”

“But,” you needfully interjected, facing Pike. “There was a footage-”

“The street camera only captured them two guys manhandling each other.” Pike expounded. “The altercation supports prosecution’s case that Murphy gained the upper hand so Collins sprinted away to retrieved his gun.”

Well, what a convenient recording it was then. From Finn’s version of the story, Murphy’s sidekicks were at a distance, just waiting and ready to charge should the need arise. 

“And unfavorably so, the incident had no eyewitness,” added Pike.

“Clarke was there,” Finn pointed out, drawing all eyes back to him.

“No, I-,” you trailed off, fists curling into a tight ball as you glare at Finn. You hated being ever a part of this. You hated that you can’t escape it. You hated how Finn deliberately drags you into the picture, both because he needed saving and because of his hopeless obsession to get you back.

“Don’t make it seem like I saw what happened!” you spat venomously and turned to Pike. “He called me but Murphy was lifeless when I got there. He had no pulse.”

“Thus says your written statement,” the lawyer agreed, tapping a forefinger on the paper he’d flatten on the table. “Good thing is, it had not been submitted.”

“How is that a good thing?”

“Because we can change it.”

Pike pronounced the statement rather seriously and your jaw instantly dropped open. Finn quietly sipped the cold coffee he held awkwardly in his hands. But his entire face looked on board with the idea.

“What the fuck are you asking me to do?” you roared, trying to stay composed amidst the fury and resentment that bubbled inside your chest.

Pike spilled a tale that he seemed to have conceptualized all along. “We can say that while you walk towards the scene, you saw Murphy about to plunge the knife at Finn. We will emphasize that you saw it from afar.”

“What of those other guys, Mark and Seth? What if they came forward?” You heard Finn clarify, but didn’t turn to him. Your head spins while skimming the written statement in front of you. 

“That works more in our favor than the prosecution’s. It supports your claim that the guys were there and you were outnumbered,” Pike proudly elaborated. “In the event Mark and Seth states they didn’t see Clarke, it will only support her statement that she was not _yet_ in the vicinity.”

“I won’t do it,” you boldly pronounced. The ice in your voice froze both men while your head kept bowed because you can’t bring yourself to look at them.

“Clarke-” Pike softened encouragingly but then the prison alarm flared and the room was saturated with panic. The police officer barged in to order everyone to keep still and not move.

“Wont you tell us what’s happening?” Pike challenged, his voice nearly drowned by the increasing tumult at the corridors.

The officer gritted his teeth as the same question was screamed by a woman in the adjacent room. He knew that they can’t keep such information from visitors, much less a lawyer. “Three prisoners attempted to break out,” he forced the words off his throat. “Jail’s in lock down while the search is ongoing,” he finished authoritatively.

“Then can I call my wife in case this goes haywire?”

“You’re surrounded by the Police, attorney. This place is safe.”

“The same place that can’t keep their powerless inmates in broad daylight?” Pike spat, daring the cop to argue. “Don’t try to convince me, officer. I need my phone.”

 

= * = * = * = * =

 

Abby’s voice was unsteady as she threads the hospital hallways, but she was nonetheless relaxed. “Honey, how are things?”

“I didn’t make it to the hearing,” you returned briefly.

It’s three in the afternoon and the jail premises was still under strict security. No one is permitted to enter or leave. Thankfully, the cops finally allowed calls, provided they’re performed at the main desk where visitor’s phones were kept.

You didn’t need to speak to anyone actually. You knew this lock down will not last long. But staying in that room meant too much lone time with Finn while Pike speaks to his wife for god knows how long. Plus, a loved one must at least be notified of this ruckus for worst case scenarios.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’m with Pike. We’re.. Uhm.. we’re brushing up my testimony.”

 _Fifth re-count, inmates. Stay where you are_ , came the ill-timed announcement. And how many fucking counts must there be?

Your mom was petrified on the other line. “Clarke, where are you?”

You scoffed. “I’m in jail, Mom.”

Well, the call was to inform her of that, of course. But your plan was to spill the beans slowly. Like, keep it cool and condition her mind that it wasn’t anything to worry about.

“Jail?! What-“

“The facility where Finn is held while his trial’s ongoing. But it’s in lock down ‘cause some prisoners tried to break out.” You paused, catching some air. “But it’s not a big deal, Mom. It will be over soon.”

“Clarke, where is that place?” Abby urged, now sounding disturbed and worried. “Are you safe there? Tell me where that place is and I’ll go get you— Oh hello, Lexa-“

What?

‘ _Dr. Abby Griffin, nice to see you_.’ Lexa’s voice floated in the background and your heart which managed to stay calm through the prison commotion jumped aggressively to the walls of your chest. And there’s this uneasiness at the pit of your stomach that made you lean weakly against the desk.

“Why is she there?” You wondered aloud, talking to no one in particular. “She isn’t supposed to be there ‘til evening.”

‘I _’m sorry to have overheard - is Clarke in trouble?_ ’

Dear Lord. If you weren’t before, you are now.

You clasped the phone tighter. “Mom, don’t tell her anything.” The words cracked in hasty attempt to half-demand and half-plead to your mom.

“She is somewhere..” Abby began.

“Mom don’t. She doesn’t know. Please.”

“She..” Abby tried again, at a loss on whose side to be on before her voice went distant for a moment. “Lexa, could you excuse me for a minute— thanks.”

Then her speech went solid but hushed while she probably turned her back to Lexa. “Clarke,” your mom sighed and you’ve never been so thankful of her attention. “No one knows how risky that place is now.”

“But I’m not in trouble, okay? Pike’s your friend, he’ll take care of me.”

“Really? Because I can hear him whining like a lost child to his wife right now,” Abby observed accurately. “Clarke, If you don’t want me there, fine. But at least share your location after this call so I can go if needed.”

“That I can do,” you agreed and it seemed to somehow appease Abby.

You paused, wanting to ask something but was hesitant. And almost immediately bit your lip and asked anyway. “Is Lexa still there?”

It took seconds before your mom replied. “Ah, yes. She.. she seems to be waiting patiently. You know she heard me the first time so I can’t lie to her, right? And honey, she’s very charming.”

A modest curve arched up your lips as your eyes rolled exaggeratedly. “Don’t get me started on how charming she is, Mom.”

“Do you want to talk to her?”

“No. Uhm-” you covered the mouthpiece of the phone, mouthing a hushed ‘one minute’ when Pike signaled it’s time to return to the meeting room. “Mom, I gotta go. Just-”

You gulped and inhaled heavily.

“Just tell Lexa I’m okay. Tell her you were wrong to worry earlier. Tell her I’ll meet her at seven as promised.”

Abby’s next question simmered with audacity. “How long have you been sleeping with her?”

“Mom!” It was a wail louder than intended, earning a vicious scowl from the desk officer who then tapped her watch to your face.

You weren’t sure if you’re more thankful or annoyed that the confrontation was interrupted. Though it was plain irritating to yield and force a collected tone in your response. “I really need to go.”

“Send the address right after this call. And honey,” Abby asserted. “ I don’t mean to intrude but, I think you need to tell her about Finn.”

“I know.”

 

= * = * = * = * =

 

The confinement went on for another hour. Sixty full minutes wasted while the testimony was left inconclusive. No progress was done because no one dared to speak at all, with the door widely left open and guards stationed just outside the meeting rooms.

Policemen passed by the corridors. Some will stop to observe the room, ask questions and take notes, some will abruptly enter to click a tally counter over Finn’s head, the rest didn’t bother to spare a glance.

The boring drama played until you were sleepy and buried your face heavily in both palms. It allowed a brief rest and conveniently avoided Finn’s lingering stares. He attempted to strike a dialogue once. ‘How have you been? What’s keeping you busy these days?’ he pried.

He was lucky to receive a lazy and unenthusiastic shrug of shoulders. You couldn’t even look at him after what heconcurred to put you through.

Plus, what what was there to say? That you were out there, willingly opening your legs to a woman you met while he was locked up? That you practically signed an accord to fuck, which was purely that at first. But had lately turned into a.. 

What?

What had it turned into? Why were you so intoxicated with this morning’s events, you almost hit a poor deer while driving?

Why had your senses been useless and your wits can’t stop revolving around nothing but one name?

Your head began to throb. It fights with the voices that say you have to consider what this is, and where it leads. It battles every sane thought that suggests you need to know if her strong arms await when you can no longer prevent the fall.

Pike tapped your arms. He might have been calling your name repeatedly to no avail.

You blinked at him and wiped the moist that clouded your eyes. “Can we work on the testimony now?” you wondered innocently.

But as the room began to clear, it appears that Finn’s gone. You don’t know how long you’ve been out. Might be a while because visitors are now being asked to leave the premises.

Pike fixed appointments with you on the way out. On Wednesday and Friday, in some posh restaurant, dinnertime. Whatever. You won’t lie.

But you agreed to meet as a necessity, and bid him goodbye when you reached the barbed gate of the parking lot.

It was past five and the sun began to dip down the horizon. Lesser cars littered the gravel. Those other visitors may have sprinted out the doors the moment the lockdown was lifted. But you need not hurry. There’s sufficient time to reach the hospital by seven even without speeding. So you casually walked until your parking space loomed closer.

And of course there was a large black sedan freshly parked beside your car. Its door swung open the instant your boots screeched behind it.

Lexa pranced swiftly out of her car. Her gorgeous face was wrapped in a deadpan mask but her green eyes blazed.

The emotions that surged left you paralyzed. Partly shocked at the unfolding scenario that you should’ve expected. Somewhat pleased that she took the trouble to get here. And downright worried of whatever she might know by now.

Lexa’s boots stomped heavily in her brisk approach. Every step thrummed in your ears until slender arms gently cloaked around your body. You bathed into the calmness that came with it, until Lexa shifted at arm’s length and explored your face with unfeigned concern. “Were you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You leaned into her once again, pressing a cheek into her neck. Her smell and flushed skin soothed you in a way that made you forget everything else exists. “I’m perfect.”

Lexa smirked. Her heart rate soared before gently gathering your face and slowly moving it before hers. She spared a curious glance towards the jail but immediately dragged her eyes to look back at you. “Let’s get out of here.”

Then her hands slid down to your wrist, urging you to her car. “Ride with me?”

It was unbelievably easy to drown in the lush of her words. And you nodded, of course.

After another permission, Lexa tossed your keys to her driver, along with a brazen command that made you feel owned, ‘Take her car. She’s going with me.’

 

* * *

 

Tuesday-ish

 

The living room was unusually bright. Apart from those usual wall lamps, you've switched on a ceiling light that made the ambiance glow way brighter than your taste. You've always preferred evenings to be dim and cold. But you began to allow more brightness lately, permitting it to slice through a formerly black room. A metaphor perhaps. Because your life had felt that way these days.

Grief crossed your mind less. It was still there but had become a smaller part that was easy to bear. Like the wound on your toe. It's still there. It stings with too much pressure, but otherwise, you could now walk without pain.

You’re unsure why you keep shaking the thought that Clarke made the difference. You don’t know if you can still suppress the feeling that she’s getting more and more important. You have no idea how much longer you can deny that perhaps.. perhaps, she feels the same.

“Lexa?”

“I’m here, Clarke.” you yelled the assurance because she was not anywhere near you. 

She’d insisted to stay at your penthouse. ‘I don’t want to stay at my place tonight.’ ‘I need to be somewhere else so mom wouldn’t come and chastise me about today.’ ‘And I’d hate to be alone. I’m scared to be by myself.’

And you only nodded in silence. Because really, you don’t need any explanation to agree.

Clarke admitted she was tired so you settled for a Chinese take out. Ryder, your driver, joined the party. You invited him up after he’d park Clarke’s car at the empty space reserved for the Audi. Clarke liked him. They talked about shallow topics that made her giggle. And you didn’t expect how happy you felt just by hearing her laugh.

There was a lazy rustle of slippers that made you slide the laptop off of your outstretched thighs, and dragged your legs from the coffee table to sit upright.

Clarke was combing her damp hair as she advanced. Her black tank top revealed shoulders that were blemished with uneven red marks. “There’s no robe at the bathroom,” she observed.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Is it upstairs? I’ll wear it when we get to your room.”

“No.”

Clarke slumped at the other end of the couch, patted a pillow on its arm and lied down. “Come closer,” her hoarse voice encouraged.

Your captivated self did as told, scooting leisurely to her side. Clarke adjusted until her thighs were over yours, convincing you to place the laptop at her leg and continue working. It was weird but you complied to that too, and continued checking your emails.

With both hands clasped at her belly, Clarke babbled about Wednesday, when she needs to start a three-day night shift. With all the jibber-jabbers, it was plain that she hates it.

“About the robe..” she mused later as you composed an email. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“No robe,” you emphasized plainly. “I want you to sleep with clothes tonight.”

Clarke chuckled. “What, so you can rip them off of me?”

“Clarke,” you turned to her and her silly face faded when she realized you were serious. “I know you’re tired.. and I want us to try.”

“Try what?”

A soft sigh escaped your lungs before searching her puzzled eyes. “Try to spend one night together without doing it.”

Clarke’s brows creased for a second before her blue eyes gleamed and she bared her cute teeth into a smile.

“Hmm,” Clarke’s cheeks flushed as you watched her heave the laptop off her legs.

She sat upright, laced both arms around your neck, and stopped after her fingers locked on top of your shoulder. “But can you still kiss me?”

The question was a tease. A temptation you’ll happily fall into.

Clarke’s eyes darted up and down your face while you bathe in her heavy breaths. You snubbed the jitters surrounding your stomach as you inched closer. Her lips were soft when you finally caught them, feeling the slight twitch in their thin form. “Yes I can.”

She pressed firmly, invading your mouth with her cool mint taste. It didn’t matter that her wet hair began soaking your shirt. You shut both eyes to relish even the littlest parts of you that collided with Clarke.

It lasted for minutes until she withdrew, mindful that things must stay chaste for the night. Damp blonde hair soiled your neck when she nuzzled into its crook. Clarke yielded to a heavy sigh and her speech was soon tainted with distress. “Aren’t you gonna ask why I was in that place?”

There it is. The question that had deliberately been set aside for hours.

That ride home was awkward initially. One can hear a pin drop in the car while both minds searched for a topic to crack other than prison. Honestly, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know. You weren’t sure if you’re prepared to discover what lies in that subject. But then, matters such as jail are hardly meant to be ignored.

“I’ll listen to whatever you’re willing to tell me,” you muttered honestly before soft fingers began fondling the back of your hand.

“I was there to brush up a testimony,” Clarke lowly confessed.

You nodded, understanding her shoes, having been through legal proceedings before. “You’re a witness?”

“No, not really. Uhm,” she hesitated. “It depends. I guess.”

The space lapsed into silence for a while before Clarke resumed.

“Finn,” she choked out, her body tensed instinctively. “We were supposed to meet that night. He was late and I was about to call him but he beat me into it. He was running. Anxious. Panicked. Says he’s gonna die.”

You curled an arm around Clarke’s waist. She hummed when you covered her thighs with abstract patterns, traced with two fingers.

“He says he made it to his car and I rushed out of the restaurant. He was only a few buildings away so I ran the fastest I could. And then I heard a gunshot,” Clarke swallowed thickly and you failed to complete the circle you were sketching.

But then Clarke’s fingers still stroked your hand. And you realized that though the narrative somehow disturbed you, it certainly affected her less.

“With both ears, I heard it. That on the phone and the real one. It was meters away. I sprinted faster with both ears deaf. That side with phone was worse because it was closer. Because Finn fired the shot.

“John Murphy lay bloody beside the car when I arrived. They’ve always been foes since high school but I didn’t think it will come to that. I checked on Murphy, but he had no pulse. And everything’s just blurry after that. Cops arrived. Finn’s gun was apparently unlicensed and they took him. I vaguely remember the rest.”

“Are they forcing you to recall the events?”

“I really hope that’s the case. But it’s worse.” Clarke sounded irked. She reached for a pillow, pressed it to your lap and nestled there. “They want me to lie! To save Finn, his lawyer Pike wants me to pretend that I saw him and Murphy. That Murphy attacked and Finn had no choice but to defend himself.” 

“What did you say?”

“I refused, of course. But they’re insistent. Pike’s toying with my guilt.”

“Guilt?”

Clarke’s eyes were fierce as she swallowed. She seemed to be keen at this. She seemed to need to get it off her chest. “I share the guilt, Lexa. I forced him to meet me that night.”

“Why?”

Clarke shifted at your lap, twisting her head so that she faced your belly. Your breath caught when she snaked her fingers under your shirt because you assumed she’d violate this celibate night.

But what she only did was carefully stroke your abs. And just when you thought that the question that hung in the air had evanesced, Clarke hissed the answer off her tongue. “Because I wanted to break up with him.”

 

* * *

 

 

“But you didn’t manage to,” Lexa murmured. It wasn’t a question.

Her abdominal muscles contracted violently as she breathed deeply. Her eyes twitched, lips hardened as you watched her under your lashes and you began hating yourself for telling her these.

But she needed to know.

You’re affectionately curled against her body; you’re kissing way too many times despite knowing you won’t fuck. It meant something. And it meant that Lexa shouldn’t stay oblivious about Finn.

“No,” you admitted, rolling her shirt down and flattening it on her waist.

“He’s still-”

Lexa stopped when your head shook frantically. Her dejected green eyes lured you up. And her strained lips eased when you covered them with a modest, reassuring kiss. “I managed to, before I decided to meet you.”

“While he’s in jail?”

“Yeah. I’m evil. Well, I didn’t think that gun thing would be serious. But he wasn’t allowed parole cause of the murder charge. And the prosecution dragged the case until his sentence is almost over.”

You gingerly rolled off the couch and rascally pleaded. “Can we go to bed? I feel drained.”

Lexa didn't move. “His date’s up?”

Your body shivered at the question’s cold tone. Hands turned clammy while stupidly standing there.

 _She needs to know_ , _Clarke_. _She needs to know_ , you repeated like a mantra, feeling every pulse in your body thump like crazy.

You’ve seen Lexa’s stern demeanor. A face she rarely wears whenever you’re together, and you prayed she won’t start now because you somehow basked in that. It made you feel special. It elevates you.

Well, Finn shouldn't be a big deal. Right? He isn’t to you and Lexa’s view must agree to that.

But fuck. Lexa’s eyes were blank. All emotions vaporized out of them and you hated it.

But she has to know. And you can only pray she’d take it lightly. That she’d understand.

“It coincides with the murder judgement,” you stuttered. “He can walk out of jail the same day. If he’s gets absolved, that is.”

Lexa’s expression did not change. Well, there wasn't any expression to begin with. And you wished that her voice was flat too instead of these chilly phrases that fall off her lips.

“How long does he have before the verdict?” Her eyes didn’t glow and you heart was sinking lower and lower.

You’ve shared affectionate moments, sure. But it’s just.. you haven’t discussed anything.

Is this the time to step out of the grey area?

Or had it been implied all along? 

You didn’t know if you have to apologise for taking a while to confess all these. You didn’t know how to convince her that it doesn’t change anything. You didn’t know if it was necessary to say that no matter what happens, you wanted her to stay. You didn’t know if right here, in this living room, you need to beg her to fucking stay.

She’s waiting for an answer and you felt like throwing up. You knew better than to bullshit around this though. So you gathered all strength you can muster, held her eyes and just blurted it out softly. “Eleven days.”

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fellas, thanks for the comments. I loved every word. Thanks for appreciating Clexa’s characterization and the story’s development. I love that you break the details down and offer solutions.
> 
> The answers will be scattered in the next chapterSSS. This story’s flow have been planned before I actually wrote it. And I will more likely adhere to that progression. But I hear you. Your views are brilliant and I tried to squeeze some of your words here. ^^
> 
> Anyways, this chapter just picks up from where we left of, and the events 5 days hence. Not much progress, plot-wise (apologies). Let’s just enjoy the fluff, I guess.
> 
> xx

Lexa left.

She left and her room had never been this cold.

You‘ve gone to that small table at the corner to pour a shot of bourbon. It appears that you and Lexa have enough knowledge of each other now, so fuck privacy. You’ll touch anything in this room without giving two shits about it. Besides, the person herself whom you ached to hold isn’t here. So why not just move about meddling with all she owned.

One gulp of the whiskey and you stuck your tongue out, carefully set the glass down and curled yourself back to the comforters.

You wanted to slap your own face. Unsure if you hated yourself more for revealing too much, or for failing to anticipate that the jail issue would turn into a grim predicament. That it could threaten to break something you were happily permitting to build. Something that was still fragile and vulnerable.

The digital clock ticked at 12:35. Huh. This is definitely the longest fifteen minutes of your life ever since Lexa walked out of that door at around 12:20.

‘Let’s get you to bed,’ was all she said after a long, deafening silence. After you’ve announced that Finn _may_ be discharged from captivity in less than two weeks.

Lexa’s tone wasn’t icy but just monotonous. And it was okay. It’s a reprieve from the stone-cold manner she exhibited minutes before. God. You’ll give everything not to be at the receiving end of that again.

Still, she kept her distance. She let you thread the stairs first, only following after you’ve reached the first landing. It was awful. A meter of gap felt like a mile. And it just sucked how far she was.

Your brilliant resolve was to ascend slower. Fully halting at times and maintaining the leisurely pace while Lexa thumped higher, and closer until her feet reached the step just right behind.

You turned then, catching her off guard when two shuddering arms abruptly enveloped her shoulders. You both nearly stumbled but Lexa’s reflexes kicked in, grabbing the handrail just in time to brace two bodies from an impending fall.

Lexa was slightly taller, eliminating the need to bend so low as your forehead found her neck. Her body was flushed, like always. And after the agonizing space you endured in the past half hour, the simple contact was solace. It burned with comfort even though Lexa had not moved a single muscle to reciprocate.

“I need to leave, Clarke,” her voice husked, sieving directly through blonde strands.

You clung tighter, weak from the ferocious cut of the words and from restraining the tears threatening to drop from your eye. “Will you be gone for a while?”

Lexa’s free hand stayed limp at the side. “I can call someone over. I understand you’re scared to be alone-”

“I’m not,” you breathed honestly, sliding sideways so that your cheek lay on Lexa’s collar bones. Her deltoids were quick to flex as she mechanically adjust her grip on the handrail. “I just said that cause I want to be here.”

Lexa only pressed her jaw tighter and held her tongue.

These rough responses sprung at the revelation of Finn being your ex. Lexa’s reactions, though gut-wrenching, only made it clear that she harbors delicate feelings. And maybe you weren’t delusional to presume that whatever you shared spiraled into something more than just an arrangement.

But it sucked that you can’t hear her thoughts. She won’t vent her emotions even if it’s obvious that she’s suffocating. And you can’t assert your stand because you’re afraid too. You’re scared that delving further into the matter will only make it worse.

Your anxious mind wondered if there’s at least anything that could prevent her from leaving. But you soon realized that maybe it’s wiser to respect her wish. Maybe then she’ll see that spending time apart only cultivates pain. Maybe then she’ll miss you. Maybe the distance itself will force her to come back.

Lexa may have felt the involuntary tears trickling down your cheeks, because a reluctant hand pressed against your hip.

“I won’t leave,” you stubbornly declared and tried not to burst into a sob as you slowly withdrew. “I’ll be here until you come back.”

“Clarke-”

“I’ll wait,” you promised softly, searching her eyes which had, for a moment, flashed the tiniest fibre of gentleness. “I’ll wait for you, Lexa.”

She didn’t utter a single word after that. Not when you seized her wrist and made a beeline to the room. Not while she marched to her closet nor when she reappeared moments later.

Lexa threw a coat over her turtleneck and strode to where you were slumped at the edge of her large bed. You nearly exploded when her smooth thumb brushed your cheek and momentarily met your pitiful gaze. “You need to sleep,” was all she said before her boots lurched out of the room.

The clock now displayed 12:40 and you are yet to comply as instructed. You don’t feel like it. You want to be awake when she arrives. 

Maybe then you could talk? 

But if she isn’t comfortable then it’s all right. You need not talk at all. You won’t mind just stroking her hand or her arm until she falls asleep.

The thought only made the bed seem larger than it already is. Everything felt empty. You pulled the duvets up ‘til your chin, relishing Lexa’s scent in it. It’s soothing, at least.

And, it was really just too cold.

 

* * *

  

You were led into a dim and well-furnished basement.

Anya’s night gown swayed beneath her dark blonde hair as she descended on the stairs. No one expected her early discharge from the hospital, especially not as early as Monday. Who knows what scheme she’d pulled off with that Dr. Jackson. Your cousin’s arm was securely held by a sling and a white plaster covered the long wound on her jaw.

It still amazes you that the Doctor Clarke who stitched that cut is the same woman who’s at your penthouse that very night.

“There’s nowhere else I could go,” you stated as though it wasn’t obvious.

Anya stayed mum and proceeded to seize a wine bottle from her cellar.

“Do you need help with that?”

“Sit down, you idiot,” she chided harshly.

The contemptuous remark caused a shallow sneer at your face. Only one person alive could get away with the crime of speaking to you that way.

You refused to obey, but only glared at your cousin, planting both feet behind her.

She wasn’t perturbed, approaching steadily to offer you a glass of chilly red wine. “How deep did you manage to sink yourself this time?”

You aimed to sharpen the glare, but the bite of truth in her words curbed your usual non-verbal defensive retort.

Your cousin sighed comprehendingly. “Had I known things will turn out this way, I shouldn’t have tried to find a bed companion for you.”

This time, you took the trouble to lean against one arm of the leather couch. It seemed like strength had suddenly abandoned your feet. “You gave her to me,” you whispered, avoiding your cousin’s knowing stare. “I will not for a second hate you for it.”

Silence descended into the cold space before Anya drifted from the subject without preamble. “I’ll salvage the most information I can on Finn Collin’s case,” she vowed, tapping her undamaged fingers on the pool table.

The mere sound of the man’s name sent your blood boiling for seconds, forcing you to swirl the wine glass in circles to compose yourself.

“Thank you,” you managed moments later.“I don’t want her to commit a crime.”

“Of course you don’t,” Anya agreed, her almond-shaped eyes shone with unadulterated concern. “But you’re aware that Doctor Griffin is remotely stupid to be coerced into fabricating a statement. You’re more scared of the thought that she’ll lie. If she did, the Finn boy gets absolved and Clarke willingly risked her life and freedom for it.”

The hush that filled the room was longer than before and you were determined not to break it.

“Why’d you leave her alone?” 

It took moments before you replied. “I need the dust to settle.”

“She’d captivated you beyond the surface, clearly.” Your cousin delivered a soft snicker. “Did she slip a hint that the Finn boy could be something more than a former lover?”

You let wine roll around your tongue, swallowed it and thereafter shook your head. “Clarke broke it up before we met.”

“Seven months ago? That’s ample time for the man to recuperate, if he even had reservations.” Anya shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, maybe they’ve agreed that breaking up is for each other’s best interest.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Lex,” she called softly. “I understand that you’re looking out for yourself, that’s why you build walls almost instinctively.” Anya advanced slowly. “But don’t ruin something that could turn out beautiful just because you’re afraid.”

Your eyes dropped to where you were absently rubbing the wine glass’ base, not knowing what to say. She has a point, you’ll give her that. But it doesn’t mean that was she said was right for you.

“Did you tell her where you were going?”

“No.”

“When you told her you were leaving what did she say?”

A low sigh escaped your lungs, cursing mentally as Anya’s psychology attempt came across. “She said she’ll wait for me.”

Anya snorted and clipped her healthy hand on her waist. “Then why are you still here?”

 

= * = * = * = * = * = * =

 

Clarke was curled like a cat and her arms were tightly wound around one pillow. She hadn’t moved even after you’ve finished dressing for sleep so you slowly climbed up the bed, careful not to wake her up.

She wore your sweatshirt and as you cautiously slid inside the blankets, you discovered that she’d put on one of your thin pajamas too.

There was a faint ruffle of sheets that coaxed your head to twist.

“You’re back,” Clarke mumbled sleepily and you shushed her, brushing away few blonde strands that littered her cheeks. She had not opened her eyes but a smile was evident in her face.

Clarke released the pillow in favor of gripping your shirt’s hem. “Do you want to talk?” her hoarse voice wondered followed by a yawn through heavily shut eyes.

You smirked and shushed her again. “Not tonight, Clarke.”

You went on to flick the night lamp off and when you turned back, Clarke had fallen back to sleep.

 

* * *

  

Thursday-ish

 

It was a known fact that if there’s anything you don’t love about your job, it’s the graveyard shift. And the first two hours of tonight just made the distaste a lot more worse.

By now, you should be immune to these types of incidents. But it’s just really frustrating when it happens and you can’t help but be emotional every time. 

At 10pm, the locker room was fortunately deserted. You unhooked the face mask off one ear and tossed that filthy robe to the laundry bag, fresh blood splatters hardly hidden by its smooth white cloth.

You wiped a steam of sweat off your forehead before slumping at the bench, grunting in disappointment until your frustrated eyes settled at the locker’s slightly opened door. You lurched forward, seized your phone and well, is there really something else that could lighten things up? 

There were three rings before the call was answered.

“Hey,” she greeted. The mere sound of her voice managed to pluck heaps of loads off your chest.

“Hey,” your speech went a thousand softer too. “Did I wake you?”

“No. Just reading. How’s night shift going?”

“Terrible.” You swallowed a persistent bile in your throat and strove not to cry. “My patient just died. He’s too young.”

There was a distinct sound of papers hitting the mattress. “What happened?”

“I can’t save him,” you gasped, clutching your chest because it’s beginning to ache. “He was bleeding severely, but I-- I can’t apply too much pressure on his stomach, because there’s a bullet digging in his pelvis that could leave him paralyzed.”

Lexa waited for your huffs to recede. “Hey, you did what you can.”

“It wasn’t enough!” you stressed. “He bled out, Lexa. He bled out before I can-”

“Clarke,” Lexa called gently, instantly interrupting your flood of rants. “You can’t save everyone. You know that.”

“It’s not easy. It’s just- that’s the challenge in emergencies. If the patient is subjected to more than one life threatening situation-”

“Clarke-” Lexa called again just as your body felt frail and your hands can’t stop shaking.

“Can you come here?” you exclaimed. Witless and desperate, surprising even yourself.

And when your brain regained its function, you attempted to rectify the embarrassment. “Sorry Lex, I didn’t mean that-”

“I’ll be there, Clarke.” Lexa sounded worried but reassuring. “There’s enough time to be back home before midnight.”

 

= * = * = * = * = * =

 

It’s 2 in the morning. Three more hours before the punishing shift ends and thankfully, no more lives perished under your care.

The hospital was rather peaceful. Fewer patients arrived and the visitors were mostly asleep. The guard offered a courteous greeting when you exited the glass doors to check on Lexa, who declined to return home after midnight.

She arrived at almost 11, hopping off her Audi and you clapped like a stupid child upon learning that the car had been claimed. On Lexa’s hands were three boxes of pastry. Some mint s’mores brownies, different cheesecakes, and frosted lemon bars. And you had no idea how she chose the combination because they all tasted random.

Her explanation didn’t satisfy your curiosity. ‘I got them from those shops you said you liked.’

Your lips arranged into a pout. ‘It’s too late to ingest sugar and calories.’

‘But aren’t one of them your comfort food?’

You rolled your eyes, Lexa chuckled and you devoured the s’mores brownies at the cafeteria together.

There were disputes after that as Lexa refused to leave. ‘You’re still upset, _Klark_ , I want to be here for you.’ ‘No one’s waiting for me at home and no one needs me in the office tomorrow.’ ‘ _Klark_ , I’m used to sleepless nights. Don’t worry about me.’

And well, it isn’t as though you don’t want her to stay.

Plus, you’re happy because she seemed to have returned to her old self. She’s amiable and sweet, albeit more wary. You didn’t miss those times her brows furrowed at the mention of prison. You faithfully danced away from the subject thereafter.

Lexa’s figure was visible through the windshield of her small car. She was asleep so you quietly invaded her remotely spacious Audi. Her brown waves smothered the steering wheel. The stuffed animal she plundered from your car on the pretext of needing a pillow, was cuddled loosely to her belly. It’s unsettling because you could almost feel her discomfort, hunched in a compact space like this.

You guided her shoulders away from the dashboard, maneuvering her body to aptly rest on the seat. Lexa hummed midway.

“Hey.” You brushed volumes of brown tousled hair backwards to reveal Lexa’s raw yet gorgeous face. “It’s all right. It’s me.”

The thinest slice of green irises flashed before groggy eyelids covered them again. But Lexa went on bending forward to absently brush her plump lips against yours. It was warm and slick and you managed to kiss her back before she leaned away, slouching on the seat before her breathing evens out like nothing happened.

Huh. Someone definitely needs to stir out of night shifts.

 

* * *

 

Friday

 

This restaurant may not have been your first choice, but it could land at your top ten list. It was grand and lavish,private and unfrequented.

But it wasn’t perfect, of course. Nowhere is perfect when the chair opposite you was empty, and the only person you’d wish to occupy it had claimed a seat one floor below.

She’s too far. Way too far.

A coy grin stretched your dull face though. Because you looked down and there she is. Already looking up, watching you.

“You okay up there?” her raspy voice wondered through your earpods. Her eyes were mere black dots from where you sat, but it doesn’t mean you can’t see their exact blue shade.

“No,” you teased, shooting her with a cynical smirk over the metal baluster of the indoor balcony. It was your mind who affixed the phrase ‘I miss you,’ to the sentence which you clearly won’t verbalize. And with the forlorn sigh that the earpods vented, it was easy to guess that she fancied to say the same words too. 

It was her fault. Or perhaps your terrible timing should take the blame.

What a pity. How pathetic to receive rejection on your very first attempt to propose a date.

“For the umpteenth time, I didn’t turn you down,” Clarke fondly emphasized. She must have caught your face fall again. 

“Hmm. I’ll let you know if it stopped feeling that way.”

“Lexa!” Clarke mewled like a brat. “Stop it.” 

If you were capable of laughing, you may have done just that because Clarke’s being too adorable. Damn, perhaps for a second there, you did laugh. 

“I dodged the meeting last Wednesday. Today is just downright necessary,” she restated. Clarke was talking about the shady lawyer Pike, who was fortunate enough to block her calendar.

She explained as much after you so sheepishly expressed your intent to take her out for dinner. It didn’t matter how much motivation was heaved from your deepest guts. The answer was plain negative.

So in the face of your new designer outfit, and the very expensive perfume you wore, plus the vintage wine in your hand and a poor blue tulip on the other, you were without a doubt, the most pathetic tycoon in the whole universe that night. 

In consolation, Clarke pulled you to her car and let you drive it to this very restaurant. ‘We can still spend dinner in the same roof,’ she claimed as she dragged you inside its doors. A soft, lingering kiss was shared before you went on to choose a different seat.

“Your date’s taking so long. Why don’t you come up here?” you suggested. 

“That area is exclusive for VIPs, Lexa. My M.D. card will get tossed into a rubbish bin the moment I attempted to climb those stairs.”

“Not if you are my date.”

Clarke managed a snicker before she stilled. “Pike’s here,” she abruptly announced.

A bald middle-aged man, in complete suit and an overall smug aura advanced to Clarke’s table. A series of chaotic croaks reverberated when he wrapped Clarke into a polite embrace. The earpods. One was still in Clarke’s ear, concealed by a volume of blonde hair. It appears that she left it on purpose because she actually didn’t end the call. 

Meals were ordered and consumed in a flash before Pike slid a parchment over the table.

“This is preposterous,” Clarke judged after reading the piece.

“Justice can only be served if we claim it,” Pike countered with conviction.

Clarke slammed the parchment on the table. “By using a pawn to falsify a statement?”

“By exhausting your resources,” the lawyer corrected like it was the most insightful proverb to ever exist. “You’re young and idealistic, Clarke. A doctor who seeks solutions to all problems. But in the real fucked up world, testimonies get twisted, key witnesses run, and evidences are buried.”

You pressed the headset deeper into your ear, stray sounds were muffled as your fingers secured the pods. Pike has a point. You’ve suffered the fate, the torture of witnessing the justice system turn its blind eye on legitimate victims. 

But your knowledge on this case wasn’t sufficient to pin point the oppressed. There’s one thing you’re sure of though-- however complicated this lawsuit was, you definitely will not let Clarke sacrifice her fate for this bloody chaos.

“John Murphy.. kid’s gone too soon. But do you believe Collins that it was self defense?” Pike asked with a clear intent to manipulate.

It took seconds before Clarke responds. “I.. yes.”

“Then you know very well he doesn’t deserve to rot in jail as a murderer.”

 “I don’t want him to,” Clarke sincerely stated. “He’s my friend.”

The response left your ears ablaze. And for the first time, you dragged your eyes away from the table below. Your palms felt cold and you realized how tightly your were clutching the metal baluster.

An ex lover lurks behind the shadows of this lawsuit, you didn’t forget that. It had been pushed to the recesses of your mind only because Clarke constantly refers to him as a friend. It’s what made you hold on.

“But I won’t do it.” the sharpness in the tone drew you back to the present, pulling your eyes to where Clarke was seated agitatedly. “I may be young and naive in your eyes, Pike. But just so you know, my integrity is intact. I’m not a half-wit who will jeopardize my future to aide your incompetence.” Clarke bared her porcelain teeth. “I will never lie under oath.”

There were sounds of objects clashing before Clarke threw dollar bills on the table. “There has to be another way,” she spat, preparing to stand. “Call me once you found one.”

Then she stomped between the aisles and was out of the door in a brisk blur.

“Sorry about that,” her voice floated in your ears once she was out of sight. It was soft and collected, like she hadn’t just bursted into a frenzy of rage. “I’ll wait for you at the car.”

 

= * = * = * = * = * =

 

Saturday

 

“I thought it’s gonna rise at 6:25?” Clarke wondered, her eyes fixed on the first sign of light in the horizon.

She smelled of soap, her blonde strands hitting your cheek. Her spine was pressed to your chest, elbows relaxed at your clipped knees and her hands absently played with a blue tulip. You smiled as you relished the warmth of her body amidst the cool mist of dawn.

You were at the boot of her white SUV, whose rear door was fully opened, stretching high up the air. Two coffee cups, leftover toast and fruits littered its floor mat. Both your cars were parked on a roadside uphill, overlooking a small lake.

“Patience, doctor. It’s not like you’re going anywhere.”

Clarke giggled and swiveled to press a peck on your earlobe.

You’ve been in Arkadia the past three nights despite her passionate objections. She babbled about the immune system and body aches and about how miserably you were curled in the driver seat of your small car. So, the next night, you showed up at the hospital driving a 5m x 2m Land Rover.

And you loved how Clarke can’t find words to badger you further, but only gritted her teeth and kissed you languidly the moment you jumped out of the large car.

She need not know that you spent the days on your stomach at Anya’s office couch.

‘Seriously my dear Commander, when I told you to stay at my office, I didn’t expect you’ll be at that sofa, sleeping from morning until afternoon,’ and the last thing you heard was that Polis’ stock price plunged, before unconsciousness claimed you again.

“So did you deliberately take me here to watch the sunrise?” Clarke interrogated teasingly. And you liked the way her breath brushed your cheeks. It smelled of coffee and mint.

There was only a little space between your lips when you faced her. “Perhaps.”

Clarke erased that minuscule gap, tugging your collar to herself to encourage your mouth deeper. “Now I understand why dinner dates are overrated.”

“This is a date?”

“Shut up.” Clarke covered your mouth again, angling her head sideways and pushing her tongue gently inside. There were pants and rough breaths as Clarke spontaneously shuddered in your arms. Her fingers locked behind your neck, sometimes, they go astray and dig carefully into your hair.

She pulled back once only to search your longing eyes. “I like this,” she said, cupping your jaw. “Just us. This close. And kissing.”

And you allowed a little quirk up your lips before Clarke forced them apart again.

You kissed for a long while until a ray of light ricocheted off the windshield. Clarke’s eyes widened, displaying pretty orbs of blue before she slowly turned back to watch. Grey clouds were scattered across the sky like cottons. Their dark hue only emphasized the rich orange rays that peeped up the ground. 

The sun ascended higher and higher. And as tints of red and orange and pink dissolved together, Clarke’s gentle hand pulled yours from where it rested on her hip. You managed not to explode when she slowly laced her fingers between the void spaces of yours.

Her hand was smooth and dainty and it felt like it had always belonged there. You squeezed it, unable to capture words to form a coherent sentence when every fiber in your body was melting.

You’ve considered taking her hand countless times. Whenever you walk side by side, when she drags you by the wrist, when you kiss. But the fear of screwing it all up always comes in the way. Perhaps that’s how it is. When you like something so much, the fear of losing it multiplies a thousandfold.

Clarke hummed. “I like this too,” she added before lolling the back of her head on your collarbones.

Minutes passed that way, just fondling hands and grins while you observed the sun ascend, showcasing a variety of radiant colors with it.

Until a persistent buzz of Clarke’s phone disturbed the peaceful morning.

“Oops. Someone needs a doctor,” you mocked, before noticing that Clarke’s face had rearranged into something sour.

“Aren’t you gonna answer it?”

Clarke gritted her teeth. There was a deep reluctance in her eyes before letting go of your hand. She crawled away, and seemed to consider leaving the car altogether but soon did a double take. She proceeded to dig the phone from her purse and brought it to her ear.

‘Hai.’

‘It’s too early.’

‘But aren’t phone calls supposed to be regulated— ok I don’t want to hear the explanation— why’d you call?’

Your limbs turned cold when you grasped who the person on the other line was. And the paranoia escalated because Clarke had not turned back to face you. Her head was angled towards your Rover where nothing was interesting.

‘No, I ditched Wednesday. Just Friday night. No, I will never agree.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘Night shift.’

‘Guacamole and toast— Finn, what else do you need?’

Red heat rolled across your ears. Why are they talking about personal topics? Why isn’t the subjects focused solely on the case?

As heartbeats passed, your breathing continued to decelerate and the life in your veins evaporate inch by inch.

You weren’t angry. You were bleeding.

‘Hmmm.’

‘Of course I want you to get acquitted. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop being guilty--’

‘Because I don’t feel that way. Not anymore.’

‘I don’t want you to— stop calling me that!’

‘Hmmm.’

‘No, we won’t—- if there’s nothing important to discuss, I’m ending this call.’

‘I won’t answer that question again.’

‘I’ll end the call now. I have to go.’

 

* * *

 

The silence and stillness were nerve-wrecking. Even the chirps of faraway birds and the softest squeaks of tree branches were audible amidst the cloak of hush that poured in the air.

It was very awkward and you were a clueless mess. You kept staring at Lexa who sat straight and stiff, shoulders squared and gaze very distant.

Please. Not again.

Filling your lungs with more air than needed, you cautiously crawled to Lexa’s side. “I shouldn’t have answered that call..” you witlessly voiced out, unsure if that was a wise or stupid remark.

Lexa didn’t react and the space soared a thousand more awkward. But you sat there, quietly watching her, with worried eyes that plead for her to look at you.

She didn’t.

But instead just spoke.

“He wants you back.” Came the cold tone you haven’t heard in five days. And suddenly awkwardness and silence were loads better.

You hated how Lexa just concludes things so accurately and speaks like matters are final and aren’t open for discussion.

“I was stupid to assume that the break up had been mutual in the long run. I was wrong.” Lexa unceremoniously shook her head. “ Once he’s released, he’ll get you back.”

You had to gasp, unprepared at the way your heart stopped painfully because not a speck of doubt tainted Lexa’s speech.

You were monumentally dumb to have narrated a novel worth of events, but had stupidly omitted Finn’s intentions. You left out the part that could throw an obstacle in the peaceful river you and Lexa were cruising in.

But stalling or challenging Lexa’s precise conclusion will do nothing but sink you deeper.

“I don’t want him,” you fervently swore. The tone rippled with finality and you hoped that the colossal weight of truth in the words were loud enough for Lexa to hear.

But she didn’t. Everything fell on deaf ears, including the noticeable change in your voice as you struggled to subdue the sob that threatens to escape.

“I’m sorry, Clarke.” Lexa’s deadly tone pierced through the space. “I have to go.”

“No. Wait.” you begged and dropped all hesitations to follow when she swiftly hopped off the car.

“For God’s sake. Please. Lexa—“ your voice was drowned by the struggle to breathe. Your chest hurts. It hurts and the pain spread wider when you saw that Lexa almost made it to her car.

Fuck. Doesn’t she even hear you?

Your skull was splitting in half as you fought the sting that began in your eyes. It did not help that Lexa walked relentlessly, approaching the driver’s door and was reaching to open it.

Fuck.

“Can you just please look at me?!” It was intended as a scream, but came out as a desperate shriek of plea.

Lexa stopped albeit she didn’t turn. She didn’t even move a millimeter.

You wanted to advance closer, to hold her more than anything but in seconds, she’d raised a wall that you were too scared to cross because it might drive her off further.

But she stopped. She stopped and maybe that was enough.

“I’m sorry,” you pleaded at Lexa’s slender back, the only side of her that you had the privilege to see. Your voice lapsed into a nasal sound. There was no point in suppressing the tears. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Lexa pivoted on her heel, jaw clenched and two burning green eyes glared at you without warmth. You hated it. You hate how quickly she transforms her features. One minute you feel like walking in a pedestal and the next you feel like nothing.

“Clarke,” she called, pronouncing your name the same way but it hissed off her tongue like stone. Just dry and icy and dead. You hate that too. You fucking hate that too.

“I didn’t foresee this,” Lexa resumed venomously. “I lived this way for months and I was _such a fool_ to allow myself to get used to it!”

The pain in your sternum was heavy. Not only does it carry the fear of Lexa walking away, but it also ached that you somehow contributed to her misery. She opened up. She admitted how broken she was and it’s absurd because all you wanted to do was heal her. But here you are, causing more pieces to shatter.

“It’s just..” Lexa’s face was upturned as she, too, battles with tears. “I finally felt like living again,” her voice shook. “And then you’ll tell me, one night, that it’s all going to change. That there’s only a few days before someone comes and end it all—”

“It doesn’t have to end!” You exclaimed, almost choking at the sob that erupted from your throat. Not at all bothered by the wetness that pooled down your cheeks.

Lexa only pressed her jaw tightly, eyes conveying something that wasn’t anger. Green circles glistened with fear and dismal sadness when they held your gaze. And your heart sank when her voice dropped. “He doesn’t even know about me, Clarke.”

For a moment you couldn’t move, too dumbfound by another blow of truth that Lexa hurled to your face. It’s nauseating, these webs of conflict swirling inside your head. 

Finn, the ex with a never ending persistence to get back together; suffering a pitiful and ridiculous confinement partly because of you.

Lexa, and her stupid charming smirk, the unparalleled solace she provides, the magic she makes you feel and the fucking grey area you’re trapped in..

Which of them must be informed first? Is there really a right choice had you attempted to make one?

A smooth roar of engine disrupted your senseless musings as Lexa seemed to have pressed the keys to start her Rover.

“Lexa, please. I-” you swallowed thickly, your feet hobbling forward without conscious volition. “We haven’t discussed anything. I won’t claim a relationship in front of Finn without talking to you first. And I really hoped I could do that after the verdict.”

A violent scoff flared from Lexa’s nostrils. “So what now, Clarke?” she sneered, spreading her palms to the air. “Where does that leave me? Shall I sit on a corner like an madman because your ex boyfriend is resurfacing? Watch him to waltz into my life in six days and take you away from me?”

“He won’t!” you growled, lip trembling with more than just rage. “I’m not going to lie in court, Lexa.”

“You said it yourself, Clarke. You want him to get acquitted. Forgive me if I can’t go on with this. I’m still too damaged to withstand another—” Lexa swallowed her words. “I have to go.”

“No, don’t.” You reached out but Lexa was still steps away and your wobbly knees betrayed you. “Don’t do this. Lexa don’t do this to us.”

Already clutching the door of her car, Lexa turned to you. Her green eyes were frosted with unshed tears. And when a single drop trickled down her cheek, she refused to lift a finger to wipe it.

She gritted her teeth and spoke. Soft and clear and honest. “You have no idea how often I wish there was an _us_.”

And then she was gone.

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There there, mates :D  
> 
> 
> Uhm, I think, both are at fault, in one way or another..  
> 
> 
> why can't they just confess all their feelings and get it all over with... *rolls eyes* hehe  
> 
> 
> Anyways, let's see how this chapter fares to you.. I'll be glad to hear your thoughts (or feelings) after..  
> 
> 
> xx

Sunday

 

“The government is allotting so much budget to the medical field and we’re not even delivering,” your mom slurs, her face hidden by the daily paper she was reading.

You spent the night at her house. When things go wrong, it had always been the go-to place, and this time, you may well stay with her for a month. Or two. There’s a dresser full of your clothes in the spare bedroom anyways.

And the food here is just sumptuous. But that morning though, you only glanced blankly at the plate full of breakfast you haven’t touched.

“Clarke.” Abby folded the paper and shoved it to Kane’s vacated chair. “Have you slept at all? Eat your food, it’s your favorite.”

A forced smile quirked your mouth but still didn’t eat as green orbs began swimming around your frontal lobe again. Its been clouding your vision since yesterday.

“I hate her, Mom," you half-heartedly lied.

Abby’s gaze was quizzical, narrowing at the tears that welled your eyes. “You cry over someone you hate?”

“She just left me there..” you thought aloud, wiping the back of your hand against one cheek. “She went through the graveyard shift for me, asked me for a date, we just held hands..”

“Honey, how long have you known each other?” Abby leaned forward. “Are you together?”

The question only made the situation more infuriating. “N-no.”

Your phone buzzed - a message from Pike. Fuck it. Well, Lexa also haven’t reached out. No texts, no calls, and you wanted to hate her more because of that. You wanted to, even while you can’t stop waiting for her to just send anything.

‘ _You have no idea how often I wish there was an us._ ’ Huh. Such a stupid sentence. What does that even mean? If she wished that, she wouldn’t have left. She would’ve found a way to work things out.

She would’ve fought for you.

“How’s Pike?” Abby asked, halting another wave of tears that nearly trickled from your eyes. “Do you think he can win this?”

“Pike’s corrupted,” you spat lazily. “I don’t even know why you’re friends with him. He’s asking me to invent a scenario. To relay a version where I saw Murphy with a dagger and Finn only acted to defend himself.”

“What?” Abby got to her feet. “That bastard! I’m gonna kill him. Marcus—“

“Mom,” you gripped her wrist to force her back down. “Don’t sweat it. I can handle this.”

“Clarke, he’s breaking the law that he’s supposed to uphold!”

“He’ll trip himself eventually, Mom,” you argued. “He doesn’t need our help on that.”

Abby’s eyes narrowed on you. “Please don’t tell me you’re not thinking about giving in to his proposal?”

“Of course not!” You objected fiercely as your mom rose again. She paced by the dining table with both hands on her hips. “I’ve provided him a statement day after the police caught Finn. I don’t have plans on changing a single word.”

“Didn’t the police talk to you that night? You were at the scene,” Abby’s voice was tensed. “Goodness, Clarke. If you’re statements do not tally with that interview-“

“Mom they didn’t ask me about the murder,” you needfully interrupted as fragments of that night flashed in your head. “I was checking on Murphy when they came. I remember medics were running towards us too. I think the police assumed I was part of that team because and all their questions were about Murphy’s status.”

Your mother stopped on her tracks. “Clarke, if you won’t change the story, how can this trial be won?”

You huffed a resigned sigh and held Abby’s concerned eyes. “I don’t know, Mom.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tuesday-ish

 

All curtains were drawn. And, as though the darkness wasn’t enough, you’ve taken to cocoon your entire body under the duvets and pressed two pillows to your face.

But it still plays. It plays and it only made your tears puddle the sheets.

‘ _I like this. Just us. This close. And kissing._ ’

It plays and your chest felt all the more hollow. Your heart won’t stop bleeding over a relationship that hadn’t even begun.

How do you proceed from here?

It was insane and rash to have driven away, you realized when the miserable sobs subsided. You sucked back the walls you’ve built and circled around, returning to that place uphill. But she had already left.

You tried to race her back to her house, grateful that the doorman recognized you. He nodded politely and even ushered you to the exclusive lift.

The place was empty when you arrived and you thought that perhaps you just drove too fast. But hours ticked, the sun dipped lower and it was past midnight when you decided to leave. Walking away without any sign of Clarke.

You thought against reaching her through phone. You fucked up and now you’re too scared she won’t answer. This isn't life's fault anymore. Life has carried you to Clarke. It showed you that there's a chance to experience happiness again. And you threw it away.

But if she’ll reject you, it better be in person.

If she’d refuse to take you back, you at least wish to look into her eyes and apologize for not listening; for impulsively throwing her those walls she doesn’t deserve; for being unreasonably scared and paranoid of losing her that you lapsed into a series of stupid judgments.

Two days has passed and she had not reached you either. You spent the whole Sunday in bed. Today wasn’t much different, only going downstairs when your stomach grumbles, without bothering to check the time.

‘ _Don’t do this. Lexa don’t do this to us._ ’

Damn it.

You shoved the useless covers off your body. The night is deep now. The darkness outside blended with the absence of light in your room.

You walked over to the corner table, only to find that the new bottle of bourbon was already empty. So you went down to retrieve all stocks. If darkness can’t erase these thoughts, alcohol will.

Four shots later, nausea began. You eyes were closing. One arm hung limp at the side of the chaise lounge, its fingers brushing the carpet below. Tears dribbled from the side of your eyes, soaking the threads of brown locks that covered your ears.

You miss her. Despite your efforts not to, you miss her.

What madness wriggled into your brain that had you attached to the wrong woman easily?

Ugh. The wrong woman.

Clarke is a lot of things. But she is not wrong. That’s not what she is. She’s wonderful and beautiful and worthy.

She’s worthy.

Clarke’s worthy.

Damn it.

You grabbed the bourbon. Holding it’s neck, you titled it to your mouth. Every drop down your throat washed the shards of pride left in your chest. When it was all enough, you staggered to the nightstand where your handphone lay mercifully inactive. You picked it up and punched the letters through half-opened eyes.

 

Clarke   
  
I’m sorry.  
  
****01:47

 

Before any reply came, the alcohol managed to lull you to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Wednesday

 

The TV flickered at the changing scenes in the interesting surgery documentary you were viewing. Your eyes were focused at the bottom of the screen, intently reading the subtitles because the speakers were actually on mute.

It was dusk. Up here, you can see the faint pink and dark orange colours that traversed the sky.

You comfortably sat, leaning against the soft headboard of the bed, feet stretched over the blankets. Adjacent your hip, a tousled mop of chestnut curls were spread in a messy volume. It covered part of the slender back that rose and fell steadily at every breath.

You’ve been here for hours. The documentary began with heart surgery. Now it’s presenting liver and intestinal operation and you’re still watching. You’ve accomplished other ‘chores’ as well, the place was a two-floor disaster when you arrived. Still, she’s asleep. She’d been on her stomach and had been that way since you came. It seems deep and you have no plans of waking her up.

Your only struggle so far was to avoid fixing her hair in a neat bundle or brush your fingers around her tattooed arm.

You were trying to convince yourself that you hate her even after she’d sent a simple text that jerked you out of bed yesterday morning. You stared at the screen the whole day. It kept you relieved and calm even though you had no intention to reply. The matters left undiscussed weren’t supposed to be settled via text messages.

But looking at the chaos that welcomed you as you got to her penthouse, it was clear that she didn’t take the two-day radio silence lightly.

Your eyes darted away from the TV when an elbow nudged at your hip. She may have moved unconsciously because her face was still pressed to the mattress. Soon, the tattooed arm flung over your legs, loosely hugging the exposed thighs under your skirt.

She was awake by then because she hummed softly, scratching her nose on the blankets. You waited for her to realize that what she was hugging was too warm and hard to be a pillow.

Her arm froze and her head slowly edged higher. Green eyes widened at the sight of you. “Clarke?”

She struggled to push herself up with one elbow but her head bobbed forward and she collapsed back down. 

“Hey,” you rubbed her back. “You’re nauseous, don’t force it.”

“I’m all right,” she mumbled as her eyes flicked to your face, regarding you from under her lashes. “I thought you’re going to avoid me forever.”

You chuckled, not minding the arm that tightened over your thighs. “Don’t get me wrong,” you pointed a finger to her nose. “We’re not okay. I’m just here because you sent me a text, which I won’t answer. But I don’t want you to spend days thinking that I rejected you.”

Lexa’s eyes brightened though her lips didn’t curl. “I went back,” she murmured, propping her cheek on a pillow and began tracing patterns at your knee. “I went back but you were gone. You didn’t come home, too. I waited.”

“Whaat? I was at mom’s.” You reached to touch her sad, gorgeous face, trying not to smile so wide because you were supposed to be upset but your chest felt so full. And you needed to drag your eyes away from her lips because a longer glance will have you lean down and kiss them.

But your senses caught up. You were still not okay. So, you pulled your hand back. It fidgeted at your lap as you cleared your throat. “That doesn’t make it okay. You can’t be all cold and make me cry and leave just like that.”

Lexa flashed green orbs full of apology and remorse. “I caved in to my fears, Clarke. It was unforgivable.”

Before you can form a response, Lexa had managed to stand. She headed with unstable legs to the bathroom, and emerged after a while all freshen up. Lexa wore a nightgown, you noticed since entering her room. And now she’d fix herself. She’d collected her brown waves to one side and fuck how difficult it was to force your gaze away. It didn’t help that the silk emphasized her curves and a long slit opened a window up her leg.

And seriously, a relationship with this woman may be a bad idea. Because how can you stay furious when every time you fight, she’ll show up looking like this?

“No wonder it smelled like liquor inside,” she comments, gaping at the table where those six bourbon bottles you’ve emptied earlier sat. “This was the first time you used that bathroom..”

“Yeah? Totally worth it.” You grinned in satisfaction and arched an eyebrow. “Are you complaining?”

Lexa pressed her lips together, her eyes unreadable. “Clarke, those were two grand each.”

“I don’t care. Come back here,” you demanded because the bed seemed so huge and it’s just ridiculous how your thighs craved to be touched by her again.

“I didn’t know what got into me when I heard you speak to him,” Lexa confessed, easing herself into the headboard beside you. A tang of anger tainted her tone, you worried if she’d pull the cold mask again. But she thankfully softened in her next words. “I‘m sorry I felt that way, Clarke. I’m sorry I acted that way.”

You swiveled around to faced her, catching green eyes fall to your skirt for a split second when you crossed your legs to the front. “I realized that we don’t need to talk..”

Lexa drew her brows together.

“Well, of course we will,” you corrected and poked at her chest. “When I’m no longer pissed at you. And maybe when your liver has metabolized all those alcohol. But it’s just.. I can talk to Finn regardless. I don’t need a confirmation from anyone to tell him that he needs to back off for good.”

Lexa quietly nodded. And in silence, she pulled your hand from her chest and folded it in hers. You let her. Her hand was a shade darker, but it doesn’t mean that you don’t appreciate how perfectly it fits against yours.

Your eyes flitted up to find gentle green eyes attentively watching. “Mom’s preparing dinner tomorrow,” you began, trying not to humm at the soothing feeling of Lexa’s thumb stroking your palm. “It will be great if you‘d come.”

Lexa searched your face. She was giving you that familiar look again. That which makes you shiver and feel as though you meant the world. “I missed you," she breathed.

And well, how could you even control these strong feelings somersaulting inside you? It felt like your lung would explode in a further attempt to suppress the emotions. And before you knew it, you’ve flung yourself into Lexa's arms, devouring her mouth while your thighs straddled her hips.

There were harsh pants until pairs of lips began to ache but you both were too hungry to stop.

You missed her so much. Four days and it honestly felt like forever.

You moaned when long fingers crept up your thighs, crawling higher as you realised your skirt had apparently slid up your midriff.

“Are we okay now?” Lexa husked the question softly.

“No,” you insisted, lifting yourself for a moment to slide your soaked panties away, making cool air immediately brush your wet centre. It was dripping miserably since Lexa emerged from that bathroom. “I’m gonna let this happen but we are not okay.”

Lexa swallowed but acquiesced silently. Her gown was pulled to the hip so that your skins rubbed hotly when you returned to her lap. “I get it, Clarke,” she sneaked in between greedy kisses.

“Say it again,” you ordered, smiling into her mouth.

“Hm? That I get it?”

“My name." You covered her mouth aggressively as long fingers crept higher up your things. "I adore the way it falls from your mouth. Say it again.”

Lexa smirked against your lips. “ _Klark_.”

Right then you cupped her jaw, your tongue travelled from her mouth to her neck, only stopping when long fingers gently slid into your slick core.

Fuck you missed that too.

It’s been seven months and you had not desired anyone else to enter you. You hadn’t been wet for someone else. You hadn’t considered offering your orgasm to anyone but Lexa.

She sunk her fingers to the last knuckle, reaching deep spots that electrocuted your nerves. It burned your veins to the tips. And it only rippled hotter when Lexa’s free hand swiftly plucked the buttons of your blouse. She managed to spill your breasts out of it and almost immediately sucked a nipple while gliding her fingers in and out.

“Lex, fuck..”

You’ve always been helpless within her arms and tonight wasn’t an exception. Your bent legs were widely parted for her, welcoming every thrust and you spread them more as Lexa added another finger. The rhythm of her strokes gained momentum. And you moaned when her free hand crawled up your naked butt, only to guide your hip to the growing pace of her thrusts.

“D’you like that?” she sexily hissed, flooding your chest with her warm, moist breath.

Well fuck. You were sweating heavily and your arousal increased around Lexa’s fingers. “Ye-ah,” you gasped into her ear as she shifted to the other breast. “You know I do.”

Lexa pounded faster, able to produce slippery squeaks from the assaults, which only drove you close to release. Her eyes watched your whimpers from below while your walls began clenching around her. Until another roll of hip plus a deeper thrust tipped you over the edge.

It was a shuddering orgasm. And you allowed your breathless form to sprawl over Lexa's strong arms. Until you were kissing again. Until Lexa had swallowed all your dwindling pants into her mouth.

“Are we okay now?” she asked moments later. Her voice full of hope. 

You rolled your eyes and just pinched the bridge of her nose. “No.”

 

 

* * *

 

  

Thursday

 

The city skyline sparkled from across the glass. From the chair where you were seated cross-legged, you appreciated the building lights, glowing in different styles as they paint the night. It’s 9:15 and Polis had been reduced to silence. Your people had long gone home.

You left the office too. At about six like most, and you headed directly to the Griffins. Clarke was lovely as always. And as always, she’d effortlessly anchored you into a beautiful reality amidst the spinning and eventful day that passed.

Abby’s cooking was superb, one of the best home dinners you had in years. You told her as much, to her delight. Beside you, Clarke was sending smiles throughout dinner. On occasion, she’ll take your hand and twine it in hers despite her insistence that ‘you were still not okay.’

And you can only smirk and search her face longingly because there’s something you were dying to tell her. But can’t until you had a clear answer.

You went to the office that morning. Very early in fact that it surprised even the concierge attendant.

At nine, Anya came to your room, tensed and cracking some news she recently learned — John Murphy’s murder happened along TonDC, one of the four streets that surround Polis.

Clarke never mentioned the location of the crime. And you din’t bother to ask because you thought it was of less importance.

‘We were so dumb, Lexa,’she slurred, pacing before your desk. ’I mean, what does it matter who gets shot in front of our building if we have our own deaths to mourn?’

You brushed the mist away from your head, rearranging the thoughts to clearly ponder on this development. That period was about the time you started avoiding Polis. Anya, too, was assisting you with inheritance affairs that you both couldn’t spare anything else a mere glance.

‘One of our people may have seen the encounter,’ you thought aloud and Anya nodded her agreement.

At one in the afternoon, four departments had teamed up to screen the people who were present that day, at that hour. But your collected efforts have yet to produce an output. Some confessed running to the scene after the gunshot, when more people have crowded around the victim. Most barely remember that night because they couldn’t care less and considered it too long ago.

At five, you were slumped at your office sofa, looking at Anya’s equally crumpled face, with the day’s main goal unaccomplished.

But at dinner, while Clarke poured you a wine, something clicked and you just had to excuse yourself right after the meal. You painfully ignored Clarke’s pleas to stay a bit more and reasoned that it was an office emergency. It was. In an otherwise thin context, it was.

The phone call you were waiting for came in an intermittent ring. And your heart pounds while you picked it up. “Commander,” cried the voice on the other line. “I found it.”

Eager feet carried you past the hallways and to the lift. Two floors below, Gaia, a young woman with short hair and a humble face waited at the lobby. Hers was the voice that called your office phone minutes ago.

You threaded a maze of the corridors together as she led you to the control room.

“Who else is here?”

“No one, Commander.” Gaia pushed the door open. “Everyone has left.”

A series of computer screens arranged in tiers came to life. You studied them while Gaia closed the frosted glass door shut.

She looked at you for instructions. “Show me.”

Gaia planted herself on a swivel chair and began pressing keys on a wide keyboard. All screens turned black, save for the one she was operating. “September 21 of last year,” she said as an introduction before a halted video clip appeared on the screen. “I’ll start it at the 8 mark, but the part you’re interested in begins at 8:34.”

Gaia is one of the few people you trust and the only one who could help you in this endeavor. She’s the engineer in charge of the entire camera circuitry around Polis. Nobody, not even Anya, knows about a concealed camera lens in one specific zone in the parking lot. It was installed in secret along with three others, as a surveillance device for Naia. To track her whereabouts on areas she frequently go but were less monitored.

Who would’ve thought it would serve alternative benefits?

Your harts were clipped at the back as you paced. Your heart racing even while the screen only shows a still of an empty parking space. 

Gaia pressed the play button after you’ve offered a low nod.

There were loud sounds of running stomps before people actually appeared on the display.

The first person ran heavily in haste. He had long dark hair which ended just above his chin, wasn’t a tall guy, ofslender body but he looked attractive. You need not piece puzzles together to guess who it was. His clipped elbow was giveaway enough— he was on the phone.

Your blood bubbled hotly beneath your skin at the thought of _her_ talking to him. And had you not been this sober, you would’ve crushed that screen with your bare hands.

Seconds apart, another boy came running. His hair was more neat but his expression was uptight and his nose was prominent. “Fuck you Collins!” he growled, throwing his head forward. A tight wince creased your face, not because of his callous snarls, but because of the prominent knife shining in his hand.

Two other guys joined the frame. One held a baseball bat and at the other was empty handed, though he was burly and looked very capable of breaking someone’s bone without the need of a weapon. These two men, though approaching the commotion, had noticeably maintained a considerable distance from the altercation.

Finn gained access to his car, a black Ram truck parked on the asphalt road just outside Polis’ territory. He dove inside after hurriedly opening the driver’s door, but the boy Murphy caught his heels and strenuously pulled Finn back outside.

Collins collapsed to the ground, landing cruelly on his stomach. Behind him, Murphy promptly crouched. He swung his arm upwards, aiming the knife at Finn’s shoulder blades.

But Collins twisted, gun suddenly in hand, and in a spit second, a deafening bang erupted as he pulled the trigger.

John Murphy dropped to the asphalt in an instant. Collins slid away by his elbow, dumbfounded.

“Shit!” barked the burly guy in the background. He ran towards the truck, and you thought he was going to attack Collins too. But what he only did was snatch the knife off Murphy’s hand. Then he and the other boy hurriedly jogged off the scene without a trace.

“That’s it,” Gaia paused the recording. Her voice floated around the room while you just stood still, staring at John Murphy’s bleeding form on the monitor.

“No,” you firmly opposed. “Play it further. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

The engineer nodded and the clip resumed. 

Collins, still gawking, got to his feet. He walked backwards, visibly shaking as he tucked the gun back to his car. And your feet froze when a blonde woman suddenly darted into the frame. Your brain emptied to adjust all your senses’ focus to the recording.

“What the hell?!” the woman’s hoarse voice croaked before rushing to kneel at Murphy’s side to check the man’s heartbeat and pulse. She was on the phone too, calling for rescue while brushing around Murphy’s leaking wound.

“Heart!” She exclaimed towards Finn, sobs evident in her voice. “You shot his heart!”

“Clarke, I didn’t intend to! He was gonna kill me!” Collins defended himself, trembling.

Clarke completed the examinations on Murphy before walking over to where Collins stood beside his car. And your heart just stopped beating. It ceased to move at all when a blonde head sunk into the boy Finn’s chest.

You looked away. Unable to breathe when all wind was knocked out of you, needing to grip a nearby desk to steady yourself.

“Water, Commander?” Gaia, with all her initiative, passed a bottle. You took it, gulping the contents in half before managing to stare back at the screen.

This time Clarke was advancing to Murphy’s side again. She tore the man’s shirt at the chest, shaking her head while she wept. It hurt how badly you wanted to pick her up and wipe those tears. To cradle her in your arms even right after she’d been cloaked around that boy’s filthy hands.

The ruckus in the screen increased as people started to crowd around. Then different tempos of sirens flared in the background.

“You can stop it now,” you ordered weakly and the clip halted almost automatically.

Gaia rose from her chair. Hesitant, perhaps at the sight of your pale face. But she nonetheless approached and spoke after clearing her throat. “I saved a copy,” she mumbled, pressing a flash drive to your hands. “The cut is at 7:30 to 9:30. It plays until the whole area clears out.”

It took a while before you gained enough energy to leave the control room. And it took a longer time dragging your paralyzed feet off that floor and into your own car.

The moon shone dimply at your parking space. The streets were quiet and less crowded as you sunk heavily on the driver’s seat. You stayed immobile for minutes, alone and thoughtful. And after more minutes, your neck began to strain as you stare at the flash drive in your hands.

It means that Clarke does not have to lie.

It also means that Finn Collins is walking out of jail tomorrow.

 

 

 


End file.
